Ink Blots
by PurpleMoon3
Summary: Buffy didn't approve of the ghost, so Willow had to find something else that would sufficiently conceal her identity. Set Season 2. 'Halloween'.
1. Come As You Aren't

**Ink Blots**

A Watchmen, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossover

Summary: Buffy didn't approve of the ghost, so Willow had to find something else that would sufficiently conceal her identity.

Prologue: "Come As You Aren't"

Willow moved down the isles of the new costume shop with ease. It was cluttered and filled with people who took little to no notice of her; just the way she liked it. Sun, wonderful vampire deterrent sun, streamed through the windows highlighting great clouds of dust and tiny pieces of costume. Ethan's had a homey, lived in feel as if it was one of the antique/second hand shops that had been running for decades. Funny thing was it had only been open for two weeks.

The girl allowed herself to bask in the light between two racks of super hero costumes, which had been unusually unpopular this year, before looking up to check on Buffy. The blonde girl was looking through a miscellaneous bin and would probably be occupied for a few minutes yet.

"Wills!" Xander called happily as he cut like a shark through a group of preteens. "You thinking of spandex? I'm thinking spandex." He grinned and gestured to the array of heroine costumes around her. "You got the hair for it!"

"I. Uh..." She gibbered for a moment before shaking her head. He was just being nice, right? Though her hair _was_ a little unique. She looked up at the boy and fiddled with her purse strap. She could probably afford anything in the store, her parents were reasonably well off and Willow herself didn't have much she spent her weekly allowance on, but she already had an idea in mind. Spandex was not on the list. "Did you find the packaged ones?"

"The mass produced prepackaged and totally unoriginal cheaper than dirt guises?"

Willow nodded with a smile.

"Down this isle on the left, around the big red dress on the wall." Xander turned to see Buffy digging through the box as Willow zipped off and frowned. Why didn't the girl see him as a man? _ Well, she'll see how manly I can be tonight! All I've got to find is a good gun._

* * *

The red-headed teen scanned the wall of costumes. Most of the girls outfits were the exact opposite of what she wanted. They were skimpy, revealed way too much, and basically screamed whore. _Barmaids, witches, and catgirls, oh my... There it is!_

Flipping over the zip-locked bag she noted the company and price: it was by the same people that made the costumes she wore when she was little. The costume was a simple ghost that looked like a bed sheet with holes cut out for the eyes and 'boo' printed on the chest. It didn't stand out, and most importantly it covered everything. Only the tips of her shoes would be visible.

Happy and surprised to have found exactly what she wanted, the teenager bounced back to her friend receiving brief stares of annoyance from the shoppers she cut off.

Buffy heard her irregular, skipping footsteps and put down the decorative pumpkin she was examining. "What'd you get?"

Willow gave her a wide smile and proudly offered up the plastic package for inspection. "A time-honored classic!"

Buffy stared at the package and for a heart-stopping second Willow felt like she was dealing with Cordelia. The blonde's voice came out low with a touch of anger, "Okay, well. Can I give you a little friendly advice?"

Willow's throat constricted. "Is it not spooky enough?" She would admit that there had been another costume that came with a lot of body paint and fake blood easily beating the sheet ghost in the 'spirit' of the holiday.

"It's just..." Buffy sighed. "You're never gonna get noticed if you keep hiding. You're missing the whole point of Halloween."

The red head looked at the white sheet in the package, thinking. "Free candy?" Xander had always been one for the candy, and she'd always given him the ones she didn't like. The chocolate and banana taffy, for instance.

Buffy rolled her eyes every inch the high school queen she once was. Willow blinked as she had a flash of insight. If Xander was the King of cretins, Buffy was their Queen. _So what does that make me?_

"It's 'come as you aren't' night. The perfect chance for a girl to get sexy and wild with no repercussions." Buffy flashed her teeth.

_But I don't want to get sexy and wild_. Willow thought in alarm, lowering the costume and shaking her head. The last time she tried to get out of her comfort zone she nearly died, not to mention how every time she tried talking to a boy he mind seemed to go in fifty different directions. Her mouth felt a little dry as her nervousness began to assert itself. "Oh no. I don't get wild. Wild on me equals spaz." She swallowed and tried to work moisture back into her mouth.

Buffy took her hand. "Don't underestimate yourself. You got it in you."

It was a deadlock of wills. The short blonde smiled supportivly, eyes all but sparkling at the thought of bringing her shy friend out of her shell. The red head rocked back on her heels, mind reaching for a way to get out the situation. People all around them, santa outfit in font, Xander coming up from the side.

Her eyes widened. "Xander! What'd you get?"

Buffy eyed the small plastic automatic rifle he produced from the bag with disbelief. "That's... not a costume."

The boy shrugged and turned away from the slayer as he was still miffed about earlier. "I got fatigues from an army surplus at home. Call me the two dollar costume king, ba-by."

Willow mentally applauded his save as Buffy apologized about stepping into a man's fight and promised to never do so again. The girl shifted her feet and looked down at the ghost costume. Should she switch? If only to make Buffy happy, maybe she could try something different. Maybe a vampire? No; poor taste for Sunnydale. The natural ginger blinked and shook herself as Buffy began walking towards the back, obviously lost in her own thoughts. _The red dress, like the girl with the skinny wasp waist._

As Buffy twirled with the dress in the mirror, Willow wandered back to the costume wall. She paused with the ghost package, about to put it back, and sighed. She didn't want to do something revealing but Buffy would be disappointed, though Xander wouldn't mind. He always supported her ghost fetish.

"Can I help you?"

Willow jumped, nearly dropping the package. The store manager, Ethan, was beside her eying the costumes. "Oh. Sorry, you startled me."

"Sorry about that. Did you need help?"

The brunette man was letting off weird vibes and kept looking at Buffy as the cashier packed the dress into a box. Willow shrugged, she could probably get the ghost and if she wasn't comfortable in what the slayer picked out for her, change. That seemed the safest course. Satisfied with her decision Willow was about to ask for check out when guilt washed over her. She'd always gone as a ghost. Buffy was hoping for something that was totally unlike Willow. Xander might even be fun to surprise, still...

"Um, I wanted something that would cover me up, make it hard to tell who was under the costume, but all I found was this." She proffered the ghost. "Do you have anything else?"

Ethan paused, eyes narrowing and taking in her subdued posture while scratching his neck. "Hmm. There are some larger demon masks you may like."

Willow shook her head in the negative. "No, I don't like how those stick to your face and make it all hot and sticky and... well..."

The man grinned as a thought occurred to him. "I may have one outfit, it comes with a cloth mask that fits around your whole head, and breaths very well. Doesn't leave a bit of skin showing if you have it on right. Though, it is a male character."

_Well_...it was 'come as you aren't night', and she was certainly not a man. Willow frowned. "It's not spandex, is it?"

"Not at all! Suit, scarf, gloves, mask, and hat. There's also a grappling gun but that costs extra. I assure you, with this costume no one will ever be able to guess who's under the mask." He gave her a salesman's grin. Willow thought it over, but she didn't have much time. On the other hand if she bought the costume she would be putting the ghost back, and Buffy couldn't expect her to waste a good costume, could she?

"Show me!"

* * *

"Okay Willow," Buffy called as she checked her black wig in the mirror. "It's time to come out and show the world what you got!" There was no response. "Willow?" The girl moved to the door and froze, mouth dropping open slightly. "Okay, I know I said come as you aren't but... who?"

"Do you like it?" Willow's chipper but unsure voice came from the menacing ink blot like mask. "I decided to follow your advice, something different!"

"Yeah, it's good. Totally not you, but I was thinking something a little more..."

"Skanky?"

"Yes, actually." She slayer tilted her head and grinned. "Still, I love it! Xander's so gonna freak! Who is it supposed to be, anyway, the boogie man?"

Willow shrugged as the doorbell rang and Buffy went to answer it. She hovered at the top of the stairs, pleased. "A comic book superhero, I think. Rorschach."

As Xander declared his renunciation of spandex, something the Rosenberg never thought she'd hear, Willow thought it would be a fun night. Quickly schooling her features she set her shoulders, adjusted the shoulder pads, and slunk down the stairs.

"Xander. Afternoon."

"...Wills?" Seeing her nod the boy broke into a giant smile. "You look great! Terrifying! Casper just had a heart attack."

Willow laughed, almost tripped, and laughed again. Buffy's mother, Joyce, walked in from the kitchen jingling car keys. "How 'bout I give you kids a ride to the school?"

* * *

Willow followed her group trying to look intimidating. She straightened her back, looked straight ahead, and occasionally gave a soft growling when one group interfered with her own. It was so liberating to be something new! It was almost as if the costume was changing her, bit by bit, as if she was falling into character like some actors did. When the costume goes on, the real person vanishes.

The teen fought down a giggle, which would be completely out of character for Rorschach. "Last house." She called to her group with a jerk of her head. The two goblins took the lead and rang the doorbell as she stood back, surveying.

An old woman came to the door smiling with the stereotypical pumpkin candy bowl. "Oh! Aren't you adorable!" _Funny thing to say to someone trying be scary._ "I'm sorry I'm all out, I could have sworn I had more."

Willow inwardly sighed. She was probably going to give the kids toothbrushes or apples or something instead. Heartless.

A wind went through the chimes on the porch, and the masked girl shivered. She suddenly felt faint, and far too warm. Using the wall for support she rubbed her head, and the screams started.

* * *

Rorschach looked up to see a trio of children dressed for Halloween run by, screaming in fear. Real fear, not the play kind. He could tell. There was also a... monster... choking an old lady and shaking her with surprising strength for the small body. He didn't know how he had gotten wherever he was, but the questions fell back as he was presented with a problem. _Evil. Evil must be punished._

The vigilante stepped forward, and nearly fell on his face. _Balance off... taller? Shoes not padded._ Within seconds Rorschach closed the distance, kicked the green goblin thing in the face, and began breaking the others grip on the old woman. She wheezed and rushed into her home; there was a series of clicks as she locked the door behind her.

The goblins gibbered and snarled but fled after a single hit. They were pathetic weak cowards: the worst kind of scum.

Stepping off the porch, the underworld's greatest fear walked calmly into suburbia. He adjusted his fedora and glanced about, spotting a boy dressed, sloppily, in military clothing looking around confused and clutching his fake gun like a life preserver. Rorschach narrowed his eyes, the pattern on his mask moving to reflect his pensive mood. The teenager felt familiar, as if he'd known him for quite some time, but he couldn't remember ever meeting the boy.

Just as the man stepped forward to question the teenager, as he seemed the only one not running away, the youth went slack for a moment and if Rorschach hadn't been watching wouldn't have believed it possible. The toy gun gained mass, more specifically, it extended to the proportions of a real one and took on a metallic gleam. The boy blinked and straightened, jumped at the growl of a small dog-creature behind him, and pointed the weapon.

Rorschach frowned. "Solider."

The teen spun, weapon ready, stance filled with purpose. Training had taken over, but only for a moment. The boy stared at him, surprise written all over his face. "...Rorschach?"

The vigilante prepared to run. Clearly, whoever the boy had become knew of him, possibly intended to arrest him. But he needed more information. He still didn't know what had happened, though his best bet was that Manhattan had done something at his girlfriends urging. Silk Specter II never liked him.

Absently the vigilante noticed that the streets had cleared, but the gun at his chest was more pressing. "Don't know how arrived. Do you?"

"Last thing I remember I was with the boys at the range.... but you don't exist. You're just a character in a comic book."

"Circumstances disagree." Rorschach replied evenly. When you've eliminated the impossible, the remaining however improbable had to be the truth. He was starting to develop a theory.

"Damn. Rorschach?" The boy was having difficultly accepting his existence, but didn't appear to be hostile. They both heard a low growling, and looked to see some sort of female-cat monster hybrid stalking toward them from across the street. "Fuck." The boy levered his weapon at the monster, took aim, and fired.

The creature howled as a bullet tore through her shoulder, and fled.

"Didn't kill."

"I'm still a little shaky, okay. Besides, we don't know what's going on, I would suggest wounding until we know exactly what in the hell-mouth is happening." The boy check his weapon and blinked. "Holy... there's nothing... I must have fucking unlimited ammo."

"Hrm. Truce? See woman." Rorschach pointed.

The two fighters headed across the street toward a dark haired beauty who looked as if she had been pulled out of her own time. She turned wide, frightened eyes on the men, and screamed as she saw Rorschach's mask. "D-demon!"

The solider sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Lady, it's a mask. You know, so he can do all sorts of heroics and not worry about the authorities."

"Is it, magic?"

"Yeah. Magic. Are you hurt?"

"N-No. What's going on?" She asked as she latched herself onto the boys arm. He had a musket, and therefore offered more protection. Not to mention he carried himself as some of the soldiers that visited her uncle's estate did.

"Lady, that's the million dollar question."

"Suggest shelter." Rorschach commented as he continued to scan the street. He picked up an abandoned bag and pocketed the candy within. "Civilian cannot fight."

The boy nodded and moved the noblewoman behind him. "You know a place?"

"Many places." He gestured to the neighborhood. The solider shrugged and followed the masked adventurer to the nearest empty house; the few occupied ones contained civilians frightened out of their minds that would probably attack first and ask questions later.

* * *

Rorschach was disturbed by how weak his body had become. It took three kicks to break the lock on the empty house they picked, small windows with only one story, and easily defensible. The soldier was going through the house and collecting dining table chairs and other furniture to reinforce the windows and door. The noblewoman sat worriedly on a love-seat as she watched the two men barricade everything but the front door.

"Do you suppose some evil wizard is doing this?" She asked hesitantly.

Rorschach considered. Demons running amok, things that he hadn't believed in before, and sudden teleportation. Magic was the best bet. "Possible." He went to the window and heard a faint scream. It was a woman, and though the scream was clearly distressed it wasn't as frightened as he would expect. The masked man put his hand on the busted door nob. "Heard scream. Going to check out."

"Understood." The soldier leaned against a bar stool, weapon at the ready, and prepared to stand vigil. The girl's bottom lip trembled while she twisted a hanker-chief in her hands. "Be careful, sir."

The temperature had gone down in the time they'd holed up in the empty house, and without walls the sound of fear was clear. At the end of the street he could see a woman in a ripped cat suit running from what looked like a lumbering baquas. Rorschach ran quickly, passed the female, and planted his fist in what he hoped was the solar plexus of the creature. Regardless, the move caused the thing to double over in pain before he slammed his elbow into it's face.

Rorschach looked up to see the cat girl watching from behind a tree, a calculating look on her face. "Why didn't you kill it?"

"You know what it is?" She shook her head. "Come on." The vigilante wondered if she was a whore, which he wouldn't have bothered saving, then remembered it was Halloween. They walked quickly back to the safe house sticking to the light. It would make them stand out, but then if anything jumped out they'd see it.

* * *

At the house Rorschach knocked rapidly twice, paused, then a third before entering. The soldier was in the same spot, but he had a cut of tea next to him and the noble woman was delicately sipping her own cup. What looked like an antique tea set had been liberated from a china cabinet along with a set of china plates bearing hostess cakes. "Sir, you've returned!" She exclaimed happily, before registering the cat girl. "Who, are you?" Her voice was thick with disapproval.

"Buffy?!" The woman exclaimed with incredulity. "Xander? Shouldn't you guys be, I don't know, doing something! I was just attacked by jo-jo the dog faced boy!"

The noble sniffed. "I haven't the slightest idea of what you mean. My name is Elizabeth Yorkshire."

"No. You're Buffy, the slayer. Stop drinking tea... I know that brand!"

"Not to interrupt ladies, but what did you mean earlier?" The soldier asked while taking off his jacket and setting it around Cordelia's shoulders. "My name is Jimmy, not Xander."

Elizabeth poured two more cups and handed one disdainfully to Cordelia before staring into her own. She was determined to block out the chaos around her, hoping it would go away. Cordelia scowled. "Party town is never going to give me my deposit back..."

Rorschach watched the teenagers argue and stood next to the 'Elizabeth' waiting for tea. At least she was trying to be helpful, in her way. He cleared his throat and the two turned to him. "Cat girl has point. Others out there, in danger. Evil."

"Got that right, ink blot." Cordelia commented as she fingered a rip.

"Need to clear streets." Rorschach spoke in a dead tone with a hint of malice. It was unclear if he meant to get people out of danger and inside, or to take down the monsters that had suddenly plagued the town. Jimmy/Xander grinned and switched the safety off his gun.

"I'll take north, you want south?"

Elizabeth/Buffy slammed her cup down. "Surely you don't mean to leave us?"

Soldier boy pointed to Cordelia. "There's some knives in the kitchen and a bat close to the door. Anything tries to get in without the knock, Miss Liz knows it, attack. Most creatures don't seem to be too bright. Be sure to move the chair in place after we leave."

The brunette girl was quite for a moment, both annoyed and worried, but she finally nodded her assent. "Fine."

The soldiers left the building, one silent and the other promising to be back in half an hour if not sooner.

* * *

Rorschach moved through the shadows, occasionally moving to disable a monster, and found himself unsettled. When he fought the baquas monster he'd noticed his hands were smaller, but thought it mostly just the sheer size difference over emphasizing everything. Now he wasn't sure. He was thinner, too. He had to put effort into disguising his voice.

A child dressed vaguely like a doctor ran up, one of his arms torn up with scratches, crying. "Willow! Please, Veronica and Kyle got cornered. They need help!"

_Willow?_ "Show me." The boy ran back the way he came, cutting through bushes and between houses with mud sloshing everywhere. Rorschach spotted the two children, dressed as a prince and princess, pressing together as a mob of adult-sized gray faced monsters leered and hissed.

Rorschach took only a second to pick up an abandoned flashlight before jumping into the group. He brained one with the steal torch before kicking at another and successfully catching their attention. They were stronger, possibly stronger than him, but stupid and delicately built. Red-black blood pooled at his feet and he dropped the flashlight as the last one went down, wheezing.

The three kids watched from atop a garbage bin, eyes wide and in shock. "Get down. Follow. Stay close." The boys nodded, the doctor wincing as his torn up arm brushed against the girls dress. Rorschach headed back into the night.

* * *

It was the strangest thing he'd ever seen after the toy gun thing. A little girl, presumably dressed as a fairy, was glowing as she stood in a tree with frightened eyes. Around the tree were unconscious or semi-conscious monsters with burn marks on their bodies.

She gasped when she saw him approach, but calmed at the sight of three other kids behind him. "You are?" He asked, eyes on her gossamer green wings.

The fairy chewed her lip. "I'm Lorenza." She looked around, sad. "Have you seen my mother?"

"No." Tears formed in her eyes and little bolts of energy wafted off her to blacken the tree bark. "Come."

The masked man was scary, but she was confused and alone, and his charges promised some company. The girl sniffled, and glancing around at the fallen but quickly recovering enemies, flew down. Rorschach made sure to break some legs before they left, just in case.

* * *

He left the children and fairy on a porch and headed toward the park. There was a commotion near the jungle gym as a group of middle school aged kids fought against a trio of vampires. The blood drinkers faces looked hideously disfigured as they taunted the preteens.

"Come dearies, you can live young and beautiful forever! Just a little pin-prick is all it takes!"

"Micheal!" One of the boys shouted, angry and scared, as he held a wooden prop sword in front of him. "Snap out of it, man! Come on!"

Rorschach grabbed one of the monsters and punched him, wincing. They were stronger than the others; built stronger. Faster too. Still, he had skill and though his body was new to him it was slim and his clothing suggested extra bulk and height. He was able to surprise them with his maneuverability. The masked hero rolled under a swing as a vamp snarled, jumped up and tried to crack it's ribs.

The vigilante felt his fist connect with what felt like concrete, and heard the children gasp and start running at the distraction he was making. One of the vampires, a female with bright red lipstick, tackled and pinned him. She leaned down, whispering in a giddy way. "Who might you be, little... girl?"

Rorschach saw red. The teenager with the sword tossed his weapon so it skidded across the rocky playground, and in a burst of rage and adrenaline Rorschach snapped up the toy and bucked the undead off just before she bit him. Quickly, he kicked a costumed child vampire in the chest and out of the way before plunging the impromptu weapon into the woman's chest.

She exploded into ash, and with looks of fear and surprise the other two ran. Rorschach managed to stake the other adult before turning and looking for his now over-sized group of children.

* * *

The noblewoman had liberated cushions from the barricading couches and beds to create a small nest around the low coffee table. A pair of boys, brothers they looked like, were sitting at the table munching on their gum. Rorschach herded his children inside and noted with approval the bloodstains at the door and the smudges on the bat. Cordelia was perched, tense, on the bar stool with the bat balanced across her legs and a large carving knife waiting in her palms.

"Xander went out again." She stated in a sort of disbelief and shock. A girl in a witches outfit walked in from the kitchen with a black cat trailing at her feet. She was carrying a tray of sandwiches. The short haired witch jumped in surprise at the sight of the new people, but quickly calmed and made a curtsy.

"I'm Kiki." She gestured to her cat. "And this is my black cat Ji-ji."

Rorschach grabbed a sandwich and nodded as the noble woman fussed over the little princess and began straightening out her hair. The smaller children flocked to her, and she seemed to loose much of her panic and flighty nature while mothering them. "Come children." She assured them with a serenity of those born to society, and began patching up the new arrivals with bandages made from ripped bed sheets.

Rorschach watched them for a moment, the mothering and the children, and for a brief second he wondered how he would have turned out had his mother had stayed like that. At one time, he recalled dimly, she had watched over him. But she was a whore, and whatever love nature had gifted her with was buried under her profession. Thinking of Kovacs' mother brought to mind the vampire's comment and the children. Who was Willow? It didn't sound like a girls name. Who named their kid after a tree?

Cordelia watched him turn and tightened her grip on the knife. "Where are you going, now?"

"Bathroom." Rorschach plodded down the hall with heavy steps.

* * *

His hair was darker, longer, and cleaner. His eyes were a murky green-brown and his skin was clear. He was taller. He was a girl. If the breasts strapped to his current chest didn't prove it, well, had had checked down there too. At least he could take comfort in that no one had touched the body in _'that_' way, but it took every bit of emotional control he had left to not punch the mirror.

"Willow." The word was spoken in his usual monotone, but it carried a meaningful wonder. It was the name the normal children had addressed him as, presumably the one which the body he was inhabiting belonged to. If people were turning into their costumes, for whatever reason, then she had dressed as him. Why? He knew he was disliked by everyone, he hadn't ever tried to be a people-friendly vigilante like minute men or Daniel. Why? He found himself staring at his reflection, a teenage girls body. He felt nothing, but in a odd moment of morbidity he wondered what kind of woman this Willow was.

A girl. Who dressed like him. Rorschach began to redress quickly as a voice, the girl with the cat, knocked on the door.

* * *

"You're a witch." The inkblots moved as the stared down at her, and the girl nodded. Her eyes never left the cat in her arms, and though the creature could speak close inspection revealed sewn seams. It was an animated stuffed toy, brought to life likely by the same magic that had changed them.

"In training. All I can really do is talk to cats and fly my broom..."

"It beats walking everywhere." Jimmy reasoned from his post. He had brought back with him a mermaid who had landed herself when the chaos started, and was currently in the bathroom tub being treated by Cordelia. Water creatures and cement didn't mix well, and the smaller monsters had found great fun in torturing the young girl. "If you could fly on up and find trouble spots, it'd be a big help."

"I can do that... but... when I was up there earlier, I could feel the magic. As a witch we're taught that all magic comes from inside us but this... it's being pulled from somewhere else and I'm scared." She scratched the cats ears as it eyed the two older teens. "If whatever brought us here ends, will I lose my magic? It... Its happened before."

"And you don't want to fall to your death."

Rorschach gave a low growl and gestured to the non-changed children in the corner. "Then we find out who did this. Why didn't everyone change? Why us? Why not cat-girl or the princess? Find out reason. Find culprit. Find solution. Get retribution."

The girl who had dressed as the princess rubbed the silk of her costume between her fingers. "Miss Willow? I dunno if it will help, but Grandma made our costumes. Maybe she did something to protect us when she made them?"

"Yeah. Right." A girl who was wearing some kind of cosplay evening gown slurred sarcastically. "We'll I bought mine online, and I know George's dad made his armor."

"He did." George said, suddenly alert. Rorschach watched as an idea formed. "And Tom and Micheal went to Party Town... but I remember him complaining that they ran out of what he wanted! So he went to-"

"Ethan's." Cordelia entered the sitting room with blue blood on her hands and a thoroughly used first aid kit. It was a lucky thing that mermaids were quick healers, or at least quick to scab over. A few of the injuries she thought would need ER attention. "I know Buffy and Xander, cheapskates that they are, went to Ethan's."

Rorschach rounded on the girl and allowed menace to leak into his gravely voice. "Where is Ethan's?"

* * *

He approached the shop cautiously; tired. It seemed that the closer he got to the costume store, the supposed epicenter of the magic, the more power the change had over its victims. In other words, the female body he inhabited was growing stronger to match his own. It was a little unsettling to think about, and so he shut it out like he did everything else. Evil had to be punished, and now it had a name. Ethan.

Above him the witch circled against a dark red morning sky, and the small walkie-talkie in his pocket crackled to life. "Uh- Sir. I don't see any more monsters... though there's a... a... man... I think... parts..." she trailed off into silence though a few chocking sobs came threw before the communication went out. He'd have to talk to her about that. Rather, he'd have to point her to someone else to talk to about it. The girl was useful to warning him when a pack of possessed civilians were coming; they seemed to want to stay close to the source of their power.

His right arm throbbed from blocking an earlier attack, but it would be over soon.

It only took one kick to break down the door to Ethan's; better locks than it had quailed before the vigilante. Rorschach grinned viciously beneath his mask, the patter moving to accommodate, and causing the only other occupant in the building to swallow his greeting. The brit gave a sick smile to the masked adventurer, eyes flicking to the barred storefront window. "Ah. Good morning, Sir." He spoke with the skill of a practiced con-artist, but Rorschach could detect a faint undertone of worry. This man knew who he was, knew his reputation, but was waiting for something. The question was: what?

"You know why I'm here."

"Yes. Sorry to rip you out of your universe, but it's only for one night." Ethan took a step back further into the rows of clothing as if to give himself cover. Rorschach walked in a steady pace toward him, mind analyzing the speech, body movement, everything.

"People died tonight." The vigilante wondered briefly if he should have accepted the Soldier's offer of assistance, but it reminded him too much of his recent disbandment with Nite Owl II, and the civilians needed someone to help them. He was used to this sort of show down type thing anyway... _but it would have been nice to have someone watching the back door._

_"Oh? _I had thought they'd have enough sense to run."

It was the wrong thing to say. Innocents had died because of this -witch? wizard? warlock?- actions. Blood had been spilled. "Thought you might, too." Rorschach closed the distance between them in seconds. Metal clothing stands crashed to the floor as he pushed them aside, and try as he did Ethan soon found himself socked in the jaw, teeth loose, and bleeding onto a creme super heroines dress. The vigilante, so close to the source of the magic, easily lifted the dazed man by his collar. "Guess not." He punched the man in the gut with his free hand and heard something crack. "Stop it."

There was not question just what 'it' was.

Ethan lifted his gaze to the angry blots shifting on his attacks mask, blood dribbling out his mouth, and have a painful laugh. "Why?" Small drops of red flew from his mouth as he spoke, busted jaw causing him pain. "Almost done. Almost complete. Little point, really."

His hands moved feebly toward Rorschach's grip as he dragged the man toward the counter. He slammed his head into the cash register. "How do I stop it?!"

Ethan gurgled, shaking, eyes drifting between the window and the back. Rorschach followed the other mans gaze and noticed a soft yellow glow coming from under the back room door. His mind reached. _It's only for one night. Almost done._ The words echoed within him.

Rorschach cursed, threw the brit to the ground, and ran to the storeroom door. Despite being locked, it easily gave way as he slammed his body against it to reveal a room filled with candles and obvious ritual symbols. As he ran for the center of the mystical set up, morning sunlight filtered into room. It touched the statue a second before he could break it, and the spell was complete.

* * *

Willow blinked her eyes, and groaned. Her whole body was sore, and she could swear her hands felt like they got into a fight with a block of ice and lost. Wincing, she struggled to sit up. Wax was dripping on her costume and a what she hoped was a bottle of ink (it looked creepily similar to blood but she was not going to think about it) had been knocked over and was pooling near her feet. She stood and wondered how she got where she was; looking out the busted door revealed the insides of Ethan's.

"Did I-" She swallowed her words, only just noticing her sore throat. She needed a lozenge. Badly.

Shaking, she left the store and headed for home.

* * *

Several thousand realities over, Walter Kovacs suddenly found himself in a filthy alley, staring at a wall with his apocalypse sign held limply in his hand. A cat wailed nearby. He shook himself and shuffled off for another day in his world, a world where everything was falling apart and everyone seemed to want it that way.

He wondered what it would have been like to live in that world (he wasn't crazy, and he wouldn't doubt himself. If blue men could exist who was to say other things couldn't?) for it had seemed... pleasant if dangerous. No. It was useless to think about it. He would move on and continue the fight here, in his America, even if no one else would.

Though he found it odd he had a sudden desire for chocolate chip cookies.

He didn't even notice he was humming the tune to a pop song that wouldn't be released for another year.

END.

Coming Soon (Sometime This Year... Maybe):

Chapter 1: 'Repercussions'

Magic is an old thing. Active or not, it worms its way deep down inside and leaves its mark. All over Sunnydale residents find themselves questioning just who and what they are.


	2. Reprecussions

**Ink Blots**

**A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Watchmen Crossover**

**Summary: Willow went as Rorschach that night when everyone changed into their costumes. Now with mentions of Stargate, Supernatural, Kiki's Delivery Service, Speed Grapher, Batman, Xena, and House.**

**Chapter One: Repercussions**

_It was like someone had dumped out a vacuum bag over the city. Everything was aged, not in the good way that raised prices, but in a way that screamed neglect. Thick layers of grime covered every surface like a second skin as if it was some weird defense mechanism against the harshness of reality. _

_Rorschach stalked through back alleys and dim street corners. He skirted the law, as always, and listened for the small cues of the city. Weak minded sheep mingled in the lamp light as like it could protect them and their ignorance made him sick. They ignored the rot setting in. Ignored the corruption that festered before their eyes in favor of titles and false security._

_Any one of them could become a victim. _

_He moved deeper into the slums, gaze flickering over a half-clothed girl with dirt smeared across her face and three teeth missing, and allowed his mind to wander briefly. Where was the child's mother? Father? Sperm-donor? The girl chewed on the end of one badly-plaited braid nervously and backed up from her city of crushed cans and broken bottle windows. Rorschach paused and reached into a pocket. She reminded him so much... so many he remembered... these were the reason he fought. Why he would never surrender._

_The girl hesitantly took the wrapped sugar cube from his blood-stained glove with a gaping smile. He gave her a quick pat on the head before blending into the shadows. In another block there would screaming, broken fingers, and if all went well he'd have an address._

* * *

Willow woke shaking. It wasn't so bad, not really, but the intense feelings always left her shaking. She wondered if this was what Buffy felt whenever she had a prophecy dream. Willow stared down at her fingers and winced while rubbing them to assure herself that they were whole. It hadn't been her. Couldn't have been her.

"Wasn't me. Wasn't me." Willow whispered as she tried to forget the sounds of delicate human bones snapping. Her inner nerd had named each bone as it splintered under pressure. More than the pain on the man's face, more than the blood dribbling from his nose, what worried her most was that deep down it hadn't bothered her. She'd observed Rorschach work his way through a nest of criminals like she watched Buffy go through a gang of vampires.

But they were human.

_Are they?_ Her inner voice questioned quietly. _Evil comes in many forms. Evil must be punished._

"Willow! You have to go to school!" Her mother's voice broke her from her musings and Willow gave a sigh of relief. School. Wonderful, familiar school. How she hated the sudden break as half the teachers had gone missing over halloween as well as a good portion of the student body. What surprised her most was that the police had actually taken notice for once.

Apparently if the numbers get high enough gangs on PCP just doesn't cut it. At the moment the local news had postulated everything from terrorist attack to broken gas main. "Okay, mom! I'll be down in a minute!" Willow slid out of bed and trooped over to the closet. She flicked through the hangers dismissing outfits based on color. Too bright. Too gaudy. Too... fuzzy. _But I like fuzzy. It's soft and touchable._ Willow frowned dismissed the conflicting thoughts by reaching for a white blouse and a skirt that would go well with some tights.

Layers were good. She always liked layers. Perhaps one of her old vests from the back? She opened the closet door a bit further and moved hangers out of the way with quick a 'snick, snick, snick' as the metal hooks slid against wood. Simple vests greeted her but when she went to grab the black one it slipped and landed on the floor.

It landed right next to where she had thrown her costume. Willow knew she had stopped breathing as she watched the black-and-white pattern shift as the vest slid off it.

"Maybe not." She murmured as she shut the door. She'd just grab a light jacket from her mother's closet.

* * *

"Hey! I need an emergency transfusion!" A nurse in a rumpled uniform called out as she ran from the emergency room. "Do we have anymore AB positive?" She asked in a rush. Her fellow medical personnel groaned in frustration while giving her a negative. They were out of just about everything. They had more patients come in over the past three days than they usually got in a month. Most that came in were either dead or barely a scratch.

They were still getting patients, luckily for those they already had most of the new arrivals were headed straight for the morgue. If it wasn't Sunnydale General Hospital the overflow might have been a problem but the architect of their little facility had given special attention to cabinets for dead folk. Reinforced with combination locks might be excessive for some, but it had saved more than one night janitor.

"Shit." Nurse Betty hissed as her pager went off. "What about O? Poor kid looks like he's been shot. Several times. Been bleeding out near the cemetery who knows how long."

Nurse Thompson gave a quick nod and made a quick call to the blood bank station; upon getting transferred to Sunnydale he had found it amusing that the blood storage would have an armed guard, now he realized how damn necessary it was.

Not to mention how high the turnover rate for the job.

"They got some left. It's being transferred now."

Betty gave him a tired smile and headed back to the ER. Thompson turned to Doctor Fraiser, who was on break and smoking behind a pillar, "When do you think this'll be over?"

Fraiser arched an eyebrow and for a split second Thompson thought he saw the man's eyes glow in the bright light. "It's never over." The man laughed to himself. "Think we can move all those idiots with the broken bones to a separate ward? They're taking up space."

Nurse Thompson checked the computer. "Maybe. At least the ones that have already been interviewed."

"I don't know why they even bother..." The doctor grumbled as he pushed off the pillar and put his cigarette out in a plant pot. Not for the first time Thompson wondered why no one said anything about it.

Then he remembered that in Sunnydale, no one really said anything about anything.

* * *

Amy was seriously debating the use of going to school. She wasn't by nature a vain or lazy person, but lately it had taken far more effort than usual to get up early and get ready for school. She grabbed a length of dirty blonde hair and ran a brush through it for the hundredth time that morning. Somewhere, somewhen, she had heard that a hundred strokes a day was key to soft curls. Nox, her mothers familiar, sat on her lap and purred in approval.

Still a bit wary of getting her hand scratched by irritable claws, Amy hesitantly gave the black cat a few quick strokes before resuming her own brushing. Nox had always been her mother's cat, first and foremost, and had only tolerated her presence as the occasional food giver. Lately the cat had been following her around with something eerily similar to calculating intelligence in it's eyes. Familiars weren't chosen for stupidity, after all.

"I woke up late enough as is, not like it's going to matter if I miss one more day." The teenager grumbled as she flicked her bangs to the side with her brush. Satisfied, she preened in the mirror examining her features for what felt like the thousandth time since she woke up in that dingy motel room on the outskirts of Sunnydale. _And hadn't that been terrifying! _Amy turned her head, eyes critically moving to the cheeks that had finally lost all signs of baby-fat, then to her breasts which had gained a cup size. Not too big, thankfully, to cause any concern.

She had gone from cute girl to pretty woman in the space of night, and she had a fairly good idea as to why. The new shop had an allure to it, a minor spell to attract attention to itself, and Amy went in recognizing the magical aura if not the purpose. She was still very new to actual spell casting even if she'd grown up around her mother and the costume shop had intrigued her. _Stupid, Amy. Your mother was right. All magic is suspect. You are an idiot. Thank the Gods it didn't leave you a vegetable._

Shaking her head the aspiring witch opened her bureau drawer to put her brush away and was confronted with yet more evidence of her stupidity. Jewelry shined innocently up at hand moved to pet the black feline taking up her lap while the other dipped into the jewels. She held a sparking diamond ring to her face to better admire the way light reflected out of it. Soon she switched it for a thin silver chain a set of pearls dangled from. Amy chewed on her tongue. It was a nervous habit developed back when she was a child and her mother would look at her chubby body with distaste.

The jewelry wasn't hers. She'd stolen it while, 'out' was as good a phrase as any she supposed, and it was only right to return it. But if she took it back they would know it was her. It was impossible to sneak it back, their were cops and extra surveillance added since the heist, so all she could really do was sit on the jewelry.

Part of her scoffed at the idea of returning any of it. The same part insisted on fencing most of it, anyway, to get rid of the evidence and make a little cash.

Amy replaced the necklace and closed the drawer, locking the antique lock built into it, and gently lowered Nox to the floor. She was criminal. The spell that had effected everyone made her into a criminal and her stomach did a little flip. She did _not_ want to go to jail. She wanted to be free to make her own decisions, to be free from _anyone_ dictating her life. Jail was the exact opposite of that.

"I hope you're happy, mother." Amy grumbled a she picked out a set of her mothers old platform high-heels. "Now I'm everything you ever wanted. I'm pretty, slim, and athletic with wonderful balance." As if to drive the point home she did a quick spin in the shoes that once would have made her crash painfully to the floor. "Only I'm also a cat-burglar. Yay."

Picking up her school bag by the bedroom door -she didn't need 'truant' added to 'thief' on her list of offenses- she headed downstairs for her mothers car. As she walked by the thin wooden door swayed, and a once-polyester-now-very-real-leather body suit shifted on it's hanger. A thick belt covered in pouches tapped against the door and a steel claw-tipped glove unbalanced enough to fall on the floor.

Nox sniffed it, then purred in contentment.

* * *

Things were strange. Very, very strange. Frank Colcoon ran a wet hand over his face as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and bemoaned his choice of costume at his work's mandatory halloween party. Sure it hadn't required much effort on his part -an old suit and a quick trip to the new shop across the street to pick up a trench coat from the bargain rack- but now he knew way more about the supernatural than he ever cared to.

For one thing he had over six thousand years of memories jumbled up in his head and sudden liking for trench coats.

Frank sighed at the bags under his eyes, caused by lack of sleep and a night of demon-slayage, and fumbled for the aspirin. _Hello, I'm Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. _ He had spoken those words with such brevity at the door, explaining to the doorman that he was, in fact, in costume. How was he supposed to know what was going to happen during the door prizes?

Glorious pills went down easily with a handful of water. Maybe the voices would shut up. He knew they weren't _Father_, there wasn't enough love in them but instead a cold righteousness that demanded allegiance and attention.

"Fuck 'um." Frank growled as he screwed the cap back on and picked up his razor. He made a small incision on his finger and sketched a quick ritual symbol. The voices cried out in outrage as they were forced back. "They don't know shit."

Castiel knew God, or at least knew what it meant to follow God. Frank had been an on-again, off-again christian with an interest in fantasy and the supernatural with the main room of his apartment lined with full bookshelves. When he had turned into Castiel, the angel was able to track the chaos magic back to its source, but hadn't interfered. Why? It wasn't his place. It was a human action that humans had to resolve.

But there was one thing both the human and angel part of his psyche could agree on.

"I'm not some lap-dog," he growled out while gripping the sink, knowing they would hear him. "And I'm not YOUR solider." Anna taught him something, at least. "This is not part of the Plan..."

The sink cracked under his anger, and he shook himself. The voices, perturbed and annoyed, were leaving. It was quiet again. Blessedly quiet.

* * *

Harmony sat at her desk with her chin propped in her delicately manicured hand and stared at the board, boredly. That in itself was not unusual, but the reason behind it was. Normally staying awake during chemistry was a lost cause: she never understood it anyway. All those diagrams and elements were confusing. Now though, when she glanced up from her drawings of unicorns and kittens she understood. It was as if someone flipped a switch in her brain and all the information made perfect sense.

It made so much sense she felt like she was reviewing her ABC's, and while the feeling of utter confidence was nice, it was so tedious her mind kept drifting.

The blonde popped another piece of gum in her mouth and resumed doodling in her pink spiral. There was a happy unicorn walking through a big ring portal, and a princess waiting on the other side. Her throne was surrounded by people with flaming staff.

The teacher walked down the isle, sighed in disappointment as he noticed the usual artwork on his worst students desk. Harmony blew a bubble with her gum and smiled at the man. He shook his head and called on someone else to answer his questions. The blonde gave her drawing a critical look. _Not quite. It's missing something... _

The stone ring in the drawing looked a little empty. She added a few lines to segment the ring and scribbled symbols in on it. It was almost like her dream. She liked the dream with the big shimmering blue portal that went places that were _not_ Sunnydale, places filled with servants and sun and good food. She couldn't wait to leave the little town and go places. Maybe L.A. and become a famous actress. She was a goddess; she'd make it big no problem.

Harmony giggled and ran a thumb over the smooth gold that ran from her fingertips to wrap around her wrist. She didn't remember much from her daddy's costume party but it had left her with the most lovely ideas.

* * *

"No nap! More cookies!" The holy terror screamed. Mrs. Van sucked in a breath and took a step back from young Mr. Travers, one hand moving to the silver cross hanging around her neck. She was one of the oldest residents of Sunnydale, a truly remarkable accomplishment, and she had spent thirty years running her day care. Never before had she such a troublesome ward.

"You need to lie down, Mr. Travers." She said crisply while watching his mouth. Unusually pointed teeth flashed at her as the boy growled out his demands for cookies. At her continued denial his anger grew and his face, his cute cherubic face, took on a disturbingly red tone. Other children were sitting up from their nap-mats looking interested. _Drat! If I don't take care of this soon they'll all rebel!_

Schooling her features Mrs. Van released her necklace and took up the large metal ruler usually kept along her desk for measuring her charges' growth on birthdays. With hard eyes and voice she gave her ultimatum. "Mr. Travers. You will go back to your mat and settle down."

Was that smoke coming out of his nose as he stamped his nike clad foot? Her jaw clenched. She pounced. The Travers spawn yelped as his teacher zipped around him, old but nimble and experienced, and slapped his backside with her ruler. He howled, and again she hit his bottom with resounding thwacks. The redness in his face faded into shock and pointed teeth receded to tiny tears.

With a third and final slap she pointed to his nap-mat. The small boy swallowed and nodded, a gleam of respect and awe in his eyes, before trudging back to spot with not even a half-hearted request for more cookies. Mrs. Van watched him coolly until he settled then sat back at her desk to put smiley face stickers on some connect-the-dot worksheets.

She'd always said boys were little devils at heart.

* * *

The leather felt good to wear. It wasn't the same armor of her idol, that clothing was far too conspicuous, but it felt right. So did the recently stolen rifle slung at her back and the oh so familiar ring of metal hooked to her hip. Katlin rolled her neck and popped her knuckles as she stepped into the bar. It was almost midday and most patrons were absent. Perfect.

"Hello, Willy. It is Willy, right?" The woman called seductively as she stalked to the bar. She wasn't good. She wasn't evil. She just was. Everything she did was for her family, even if the stress was slowly cracking her mind. "Tell me about the big bad."

Willy looked at the woman like she crazy, and in a way she was. "Who are you? Why should I tell you anything?"

Katlin fluttered her lashes and perched on a barstool. "Oh. I think you'll tell me." She leaned forward. "I think you'll tell me everything I need to know." Her hand lashed out and grabbed his hair, smashing his face into the bar even as she used the motion as leverage to flip over it. A bottle quickly found its way into her spare hand and she broke it, pressing the sharp glass into his stomach.

Katlin had been a fan of the TV show, Xena: Warrior princess. Not everyone remembered that Xena hadn't always been a champion of good, or remembered why she had turned warlord in the first place. Katlin always liked dark Xena best. It had been a dream come true to find the 'dark' version of Xena's armor in the costume shop.

"I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family, Willy. Even if it means spilling a little innocent blood." Willy whimpered as the broken bottle dug deep enough to draw blood. "How innocent is yours?"

He couldn't talk fast enough.

* * *

People mingled all around her. They laughed and gossiped; business as usual. Never mind the sudden decrease in faculty and students alike. Never mind that very same fate could just as easily happen to any of them, at any time.

Willow stared down at the jelly dripping over her fingers. How could she have ever been like that? How long ago had her only thoughts revolved around school work and her few friends? How had she been so blind to never wonder why a third of her class would inevitably go missing over the year? The statistics were staggering, she'd checked, so how had she ignored it all the time?

The jelly crawled over her fingers like a caterpillar, slowly and with intent. Willow heard a fly before she saw it circle around her sandwich. Her eyes narrowed.

What reason was there Buffy should shoulder the burden alone?

"Wills? You okay?"

Willow jumped and looked up, blinking at her best friends worried face. Xander perched on the concrete bench rather like a frog with a chocolate bar half-eaten in his hand. She could practically feel the distinctly non-Willow thoughts drain away at his presence. "Um. Yeah. Just thinking. It was really crazy last week, crazy."

"I hear ya." Xander hopped down to join her on the ground while stuffing the candy in his mouth. "I swear, being surrounded by crying midgets is the worst thing, ever."

Willow gave a grunt and forced herself to finish her PB and J. It didn't have the flavor she remembered. "I'm just glad it wasn't me." She took a sip of her juice. "Though I wonder if Willow-babble and Midget-babble is compatible?"

Xander grinned and crunched up his wrapper before slipping it into his pocket. He leaned back and Willow watched him. He was different but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She scanned the courtyard and watched her fellow students move about. There was a sharp pang in her chest as she was once again reminded of how empty it was. Her eyes darted to all the exits, her genius mind making calculations she never would have considered before.

"It would take twenty steps to get to the parking lot." She mumbled absently.

"Ten to get to the stairs, flat out, and another ten to reach the roof." Xander replied with eyes closed, his face tilted to the afternoon sun.

Once again the red head found herself looking at her friend wondering how he knew that little fact; why he had said it. _Did I say that out loud? _She shuddered and took a deep breath. Depressing thoughts were for later. She'd deal with them later. Lunch was almost over and she needed to focus for school. She didn't need to think about the best escape routes, the most efficient methods of taking down obnoxious jocks, or how many people had died during Halloween.

Xander yawned. "Buffy and Giles want to meet when we get out of classes." Willow nodded and crumpled up her brown bag before tossing it into the garbage with complete accuracy. "Three points!"

Willow smiled and followed her friend to their next class, noting with surprising pleasure how he carried himself. And since when was he so muscular?

* * *

His little paws batted at her feet begging for attention. She ignored him. It wasn't that she was upset with him, he was actually one of the few comforting things she had, but he was too unnatural. The young girl bit her lip and focused on her current project. Her dad's knife wasn't as sharp as she'd like it, but it got the job done.

"Kiki?"

_You're such a hypocrite._ She sniffled and put a little too much force into her motions causing the knife to catch in the wood. It jerked out of her hand and fell onto the bed. _You can't even get being a witch right. Idiot._

"Kiki! Talk to me..."

Swallowing, the girl looked down at the small cat-shaped being at her feet. "I'm sorry, Jiji." She picked up the knife and resumed her carving. Everything was a jumble in her mind, a mixture of memories that swam into a confusing puddle. It had been horrible to not even recognize her own mother when she got back from her trip. Part of her didn't believe making a new broom would help.

But was soothing, and it gave her the illusion of doing something. "I'm sorry." As long as she didn't think about the bodies, or the fires, or- _Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_ Her hands gradually stopped shaking, and the impossibly alive stuffed cat rubbed against her thighs with deep calming purrs.

"It'll be okay. You'll see."

* * *

Harry sat at the kitchen table, glaring balefully at the innocent looking trench coat hanging by the door. He didn't know how, but he was sure it was part of the reason his daughter kept having nightmares and woke screaming for a character that shouldn't exist. Tetsumi Saiga was just a cartoon character; there was no reason his daughter should go to him for comfort and protection.

There was no reason he answered to that name as quickly as his own.

There was no reason his eyes stung whenever he looked at things through a lens. No logical reason his brothers old camera was filled with film from Halloween night that, when developed, showed things that should only be in horror flicks.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and reached for a carton of cigarettes that he never smoked, because he wasn't a smoker. "Damn..."

He never should have agreed to dress up with his daughter while escorting her friend's little trick-or-treat mob. He never should have picked up the coat from that weird little shop's bargain rack.

A strangled cry had him upstairs in less than a minute with his arms around his twelve year old daughter. She buried her face in his chest. "S-saiga... daddy..."

"Hey. It's okay. I'll protect you, they won't get you. You're free now. Safe."

Harry rocked his daughter as she quieted. His little Jess was lost and broken and it would only get worse if what he suspected had occured. He didn't know how, but if Kagura's abilities had carried over... Jess would never be able to have a normal relationship. Anyone she kissed, besides her own father, would die.

He really wished the nightmares would stop. His own had only been staved off by the whisky downstairs.

* * *

Detective Niska took a drag of his cigarette and surveyed the morgue. It was nearing capacity and still bodies were trickling in. He tapped the ashes out in the nearby stainless steel trash-can and slunk over to the slab where the coroner was working. "Barbecue fork?" He asked hopefully.

The gray haired woman shook her head with a sigh. "No. Plenty of bites on this one, but it was the blunt trauma that caused death." She gestured tiredly to the sheet-covered gurney a few feet away. "I don't even know what to put down for that one. Probably should just cremate it and call it a night. It's got me an appointment with Mr. Daniels tonight."

The detective lifted the edge of the sheet and sighed. It wasn't so much that only parts of the body were present, as it was the parts were green. Literally green and scaly with just a touch of barbs. "Mayor's not going to be happy." No one was going to be happy and gangs on PCP wasn't going to cut it. Nothing mobilized sheep like a nightmare biting them on the nose. "Burn it. You won't get anything else like it. In fact, you didn't even get this one."

SDPD was actually going to have to do some work. _I'll have to call Simmons and arrange for a little 'planting'. Call in the patsy's from out of town. That might work._

"Sure. Sure." The old woman smiled wistfully as she bustled over to clean her scalpels. "It's just been me and Mr. Daniels. Just us and the dead bodies. As usual."

* * *

Greg watched the swinging door swish as the police detective walked through it. He twirled his cane around his fingers and pushed off from the wall. _Interesting..._ he thought about what he had just overheard. The cops were dirty, no surprise there, but the mayor too? And to such a degree?

Greg House had never been particularly hardworking, but lately he hadn't been able to sit around. He went on runs enjoying the feel of being able to move around without a limp, though he kept the cane around for sentimental and practical reasons. He'd developed a fascination with puzzles, not to mention TV hospital dramas. No one seemed concerned that a college drop out was hanging around the hospital, lurking and thieving interesting looking patient files.

Barbecue forkings? Mass hallucinations? _Please_. Greg snorted and glanced past the still swinging door into the morgue. Green clawed fingers poked out form under the sheet. _Huh. Maybe I'll enroll in medical school. Betcha I'd ace it._

Gregory House was a practical man. So was the fictional character that shared his name. He'd figure out the whole Sunnydale conspiracy from a safe distance.

* * *

There was something comforting about the musty old books. Maybe it was the smell. Willow walked up the steps and ran her hand over the spines as a sense of nostalgia went through her. _Giles takes good care of these. Makes me feel a little bad about eating pizza while researching. _She smiled and plucked a text from the shelves. "Basic Magical Theory, Second Edition."

The pages were thick and covered in an artistic scrawl that made reading them a trial, but never let it be said that Willow Rosenberg backed down from a challenge. At least academically. She turned the page and absently noticed the soft tap of of well worn dress shoes on the wooden floor.

"Ah, Willow?" Giles glanced at her book with a faint smile. That particular volume had been like a gateway drug for him. "Might want to bring that. Care to join us?"

The red head blushed and snapped the book closed to tuck it under her arm and follow the librarian to the foyer. Buffy was sitting on the table with her books scattered along the top as she talked to Xander. Willow felt her mouth twitch in amusement, or maybe annoyance, as Xander's eyes kept flicking from Buffy's face to her chest. _He wasn't that bad before. _A faint grumble echoed in her mind.

Buffy's feet kicked as she chirped happily. "At least I won't have to study for french anymore! I've got that class in the bag!" She fluttered her eye lashes at her Xander-shaped friend. "Que diriez-vous de de vous?"

Xander startled and shifted allowing all four legs of his chair to meet the floor. "Come again?"

Buffy giggled before shaking her head and going into slayer mode. "But, seriously, what was up with that? I mean the rose stone download is a nice perk, yeah, but the police are going crazy trying to figure everything out. And how come you didn't notice anything?!" The blonde spun around on the last bit, finger pointing accusingly toward her Watcher.

Giles sighs as if he's explained everything a hundred times and it's possible he had. He takes off his glasses and polishes them. "I was doing some research, as you well know, and there are enough wards placed on the library that I didn't hear anything. I had no way of knowing that anything was wrong, and it was _halloween_, I had no reason to suspect that anything was a miss." He replaced his glasses. "What we need to do is discover the cause of the sudden, possessions, and if it was an isolated incidents. You said you became a noblewoman, yes? What about Xander?"

"Solider boy." Xander responded with a grin. "Born and Raised in Sunnydale, stationed too."

"Interesting..." Giles went behind the check-out counter and brought back a few books. "Willow?"

"I, um, went as a comic book character."

"And you became her? Complete with superpowers?" The native brit looked absolutely fascinated as he flicked through a thick and moldy tome. Squinting, Willow could just barely make out the faded 'transformations and transmutations' embossed on the cover.

She chewed on the end of hair. "Him. I went as a guy, and he didn't have any superpowers."

"Unless you count complete bad-assery as a power." Xander tilted his chair back and resumed his careful balancing with his feet propped up on the table by Buffy's books. "Which doesn't look like it carried over, no offense, Wills. I mean, Buffy has her French down and can make tea that has Giles drooling, I'm pretty sure I can strip down and reassemble any firearm you place in front of me, but all you get is few missing hours."

"I wonder..." Giles skipped several pages. "Buffy came from the past. Xander, you were a marine of Sunnydale? Specifically?"

"Yes sir, Mr. G-Man, Sir. And apparently Jimmy knew all about our beloved night life."

"Fascinating. It's quite possible this was more than a simple transmutation. More like a... possession... very similar to what happened between Xander and the hyena primals. Traits getting passed on and the like."

Willow grabbed one of the big books she recognized from an earlier research session and flicked to the page she remembered. It had a fancy drawing of two earths and some swirly things that had some magical significance she hadn't had time to look up before. _Where is it... ah! _"But to pass on traits, wouldn't the, uh, spirit, have to be real? I mean, I went as a comic book hero. How could that be real?"

"Perhaps it made only a facsimile of your character based on the idea by mixing several others. Of course we would need to find another who dressed as a 'superhero' to be sure. No abilities were left behind in you, yes? If I may?" Giles asked and Willow passed over the book, still open, laughing as Buffy and Xander glanced at the page before blanching. Latin wasn't either of their favorite languages and Willow still needed her notes for translation half the time. "This is quite a sound theory, if totally unproven. You see the idea is that everything conceivable exists. Writers, artists, have the ability to tap into these alternate realities and... that's it!" The three students moved back as the Watcher snatched the thin beginners volume Willow had left on the table and turned to the chapter titled 'Chaos Theory'. "Bridging the universes isn't that difficult. Keeping control of it, however, is. Perhaps with some sort of ritual set up..."

Willow nibbled bottom lip. Conversations replayed in her mind, loose and unfocused as everything from halloween was, but bits and pieces stood out like jagged parts of a puzzle. Xander was staring at her, and for the first time she noticed the combat knife flicking tucked surreptitiously into his jeans, one thumb rubbing over the handle absently. "When I came back to me, I was in a weird room. Candles and such, and a broken statue."

Giles froze. "Where was this?"

* * *

Xander snuk into his room through the window, not that he needed to, but it was fun. He liked sneaking around; it had become almost second nature to him. The window shut silently and he went about his usual routine. His shirt was tossed into the over-flowing clothes bin where his pants would soon be. The combat knife he'd picked up at the costume shop gleamed a decidedly non-plastic as he set it on the night stand where a half whittled stake lay.

The Zeppo reached under the mattress and pulled out his new baby. Like the knife, the gun hadn't changed back. Though it did run out of ammo and he could always get his Uncle Rory to buy him some later. "Not bad for a buck fifty." Xander began dismantling the weapon. "Incendiary rounds. That'd be good for the vamps." Jimmy's memories were murky on a lot of things, most of the time, but fights and facts stood out like flashbulbs.

Humming was something that Jimmy always did when cleaning his weapons, and it passed over to Xander. A shoebox filled with q-tips and gun oil sat invitingly as Xander got to work. With each adjustment and polish he saw people, things, dying. Whatever reality Jimmy had come from had been rough. There was no bliss. Sunnydale residents didn't have the luxury of ignorance. _That's probably why he didn't freak out like everyone else. _

Xander started singing under his breath as he rode the tide of memories, "Hello darkness my old friend..." He remembered bleeding a vampire dry and unloading clip after clip into bark-covered demon. Cody and Keller backed him up with small tranquilized guns to keep off the mesmerized so he could shove a small bomb into the bezoar under the school. "...And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains..." Their units had done good even without superpowers. Xander grinned as another memory bubbled up. White walls covered in smoke and fire.

He wondered if the Initiative existed in his universe. His boys and their boys had never gotten along. _No. Not my boys. Jimmy's boys. I have girls. Buffy and Willow._

* * *

She'd been thirsty all day but a steady supply of juice boxes reduced the dry feeling in her mouth to manageable levels. It was a good thing that her mother decided it would be better for her to stay home, as her teacher Miss Harrison was really strict about eating and drinking in the classroom. Besides, coloring beat out maths any day.

The small blonde girl chewed on the straw of her juice box and sucked up the last of the sweet liquid. They ran out of apple, so she was stuck with strawberry kiwi, which wasn't too bad but the aftertaste was a little funny.

Her mother walked in with a fresh juice box and knelt down to study the girl's work. "That's... very interesting. Who is it?" The girl grabbed for the drink with a smile as her mother gently looked her over to examine the various scratches and bruises littering the little girl's body.

The blonde child sat up and plopped down in her mothers lap, enjoying the attention, and answered cheerily. "That's Mr. Jimmmy! He's my angel!"

"He's the one that saved you last night?" The mother asked for clarification. She'd berated herself for letting her baby get hurt, though logically a high-school escort should have been safe, and was determined to find the mysterious 'Jimmy' to thank him. Her baby had stumbled home in the early morning just as she picked up the phone to call the police, covered in hurts and tears but alive. There were a few parents that couldn't claim even that.

Clara herself didn't say much, just that everything had gotten fuzzy, but insisted on being rescued from 'mean monsters' by 'Jimmy'. Her mother sighed and held her tighter wishing the drawing was a bit clearer, but it was a little much to ask a six year old. Jimmy evidently had brown hair and was in the army. Or just liked green.

The little girl drained the juice box and squirmed in her mothers lap. "Yeah. He was really nice. He walked us all home! Him and the lady-in-the-dress."

"We'll have to thank them next time, hmm?" The woman commented as she stood up and swung her child into a carrying position, nearly falling from the weight. It had been too long since she last carried her daughter anywhere. "Why don't we take a bath? You've gotten so dirty..."

"Hey! I'm a big girl! I can take a bath by myself." The child protested.

"Of course." Her mother smiled tiredly as she set the girl on the bathroom floor and closed the door. She leaned against the wall, rubbed her temples in exhaustion and worry, and told herself nothing could happen to her baby while she was in the house. Clara had been bathing by herself for almost two years now.

Inside the bathroom the small blonde girl tested the water with her hand, noted the nice warm temperature, and carefully stepped into the tub. Her bottom hit the tub with a painful thud as she stared in fascination and horror at her lower body.

"MOMMY!!!"

* * *

His younger brother was sleeping, thankfully, in the upper bunk. Sammy wasn't nearly as bad off as him, for which he was thankful for, but the whole situation was maddening. He still didn't know what exactly had happened on Halloween but it just stank of the supernatural and he wasn't going to be caught unawares again. Even if they were kids. Even if he was slowly losing his mind.

After all, with all the deaths and barbecue-forkings in Sunnydale insane seemed the safer option.

"Daniel, are you still up, babe?"

Cursing under his breath the young boy finished making the line of salt, hidden just within the shadows of the bunk bed, and stuffed the stolen container between his sheets. His mother's shadow was visible from the crack beneath the door as she tried to turn the knob.

"Daniel." She sighed when confronted with the obstacle. She stood in the hallway of their small trailer and pressed her forehead tiredly against the door. "Daniel. Hun. It's just me."

The boy glanced up toward the bed, saw his brother roll over in agitation and mutter something about 'Jess', before shuffling to the door. He tilted the chair to move it out of the way and slowly opened the door. His mother's hair was loose and wild, her make-up asque, and her clothing rumpled. Looking at her, he could tell she'd been in another fight with his father.

He wanted to shoot the bastard.

"I'm fine, mom. Sa- err. Shawn was just having a nightmare. I got him to sleep, though." Daniel whispered with clenched fists. Images overlapped as he looked at her, with her warm caring expression, and he saw someone he recalled to be dead. Burned.

"Oh hun. That's so sweet of you to look after your brother like that." She leaned over and gave the ten-year-old and affectionate pat on the head. "I'm just a little worried about the other night... all those gangs running around... I feel terrible..."

He launched himself at her, gripping her middle tightly, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't let anything hurt her again. He didn't care if she was Mary, or Shawn was Sammy. Maybe God had finally decided to give him a break, or some trickster felt pity for him.

This was his life now, his family. Dean Winchester, or Daniel Forester, wouldn't let anything take them away from him.

* * *

He danced in the other realm. It was outside time, outside all worlds, and he was a part of them all. Once upon a time they banished him, one-by-one, until only a handful of universes permitted his influence. But he was eternal. He was a god. He could bide his time, and doorways were his domain.

Janus danced as the muses sang. He danced and laughed, power swirling. His form shifted. Ethan was such a nice boy, such a good son, to make way for his power to effect so many of the forbidden realms. With one little spell he opened the door and let Janus in.

Janus made sure those doors stayed open, and the Chaos would reign. Beautiful. Wonderful. Chaos. Janus danced, his body moving between male and female, dark and light. _Chunky and creamy._

END.

**Next Time: You don't do it because you want to, you do it because you have to: Late Night Walks **

**A/N- I was thinking of doing a spin-off story about Harmony. Any thoughts? And the next chapter will be more on teh Scooby gang than everyone else in town.  
**


	3. Late Night Walks 1 of 2

**Ink Blots**

**A Buffy/Watchmen Crossover**

**Series mentioned in this chapter: Speed Grapher, Xena.**

**Chapter Two: Late Night Walks 1/2**

Had they been anyone else the Rosenbergs might have been alarmed, or at least curious, about the change in their daughter. For a pair of psychologists they were surprisingly unobservant as to the going-on's of their own household. Mrs. Rosenberg read more books by her peers on how to raise a child than she did actively attempting to do so to her own. Mr. Rosenburg was often gone business during the year and hadn't had a conversation with his daughter beyond greetings in five years.

As it was neither Mr. or Mrs. Rosenberg noticed the internal changes going on in their daughter. Part of may have had to do with Sunnydale Syndrome effecting them more than others; deflecting their professional ability to observe and dissect the people around them. Part of it may have been the idea that teenagers are teenagers and hence incomprehensible.

Willow didn't have any opinion on the matter. She was used to her parents hands-off policy when it came to her life and the uncomfortable memories that had bubbled up with alarming frequency since Halloween found their inattention appealing. Much better to be provided for and ignored than abused.

Much better.

Willow grunted and sent her fist into the punching bag with far more force than her previous efforts as she bounced around her fathers exercise room. If she stopped thinking, just took a breath and stopped trying to analyze and chase down the foggy memories, they rolled over her like a wave. The smell of old spice; the lingering tang of alcohol on the breath. A flash of dark lipstick against pale skin. Angry yells.

"_Remember Walter: Do not let up. Do not give them an opening." A middle-aged man spoke seriously from the far side of a well used punching bag. Young scarred hands pounded into the duck-tape marked target. "In the ring your opponent won't give you any breathing room. He'll take any advantage you give him, and you'll do the same."_

The red head moved back panting and sent a swift kick at the punching bag. For a split second the world shifted and Willow's leg was replaced with another's and her tape wrapped hands bore stained leather gloves. Willow blinked and relaxed as the memory faded into the back of her mind. She panted, chest heaving, and wiped the sweat from her face with a dark green dishcloth. There was a clock by the window and she turned to glance at it. Since she started her work out the morning light through the blinds had gone from a faint white to a healthy yellow.

Willow left the now sweat soaked towel hanging on her mothers treadmill and trotted down to the bathroom. Her reflection didn't look all that different from what she remembered aside from less baby fat. Hair fell around her face and stuck to her neck as she pulled it from it's ponytail. "Willow. You are Willow Rosenberg. Nerd. Computer Geek. Scooby." Sighing, the girl began stripping off her work out clothes. "And suspected escaped mental patient."

Energy had been humming under her skin and her body felt like she'd hit a growth spurt. Working out kept the pain to a minimum and felt right. As if she'd been doing it for years and skipping was... unthinkable. Willow turned on the water and waited for it to heat up. She sat on the edge of the tub with a slump. Everything had been so confusing lately with the dreams and the reactions. She thought she was getting better; everyone was getting better. Routines (some slightly altered) were being resumed and school had returned to it's normal Synder cursed status quo. Even Cordelia, who Willow was positive had taken to carrying a can of mace and knife around in her purse, had quickly gotten back into her Queen C persona.

But then Billy Ford came to town and screwed it all up. Angel had been suspicious and though she didn't invite him into her room, as the rough growling voice in the very back of her mind wouldn't allow it, she did do a background check on the boy. But he was human. A non-threat. Up to something, probably, but not demon-dangerous.

Willow hugged her shoulders and collapsed in on herself listening to the water run. Her work out had been tough. She'd hoped that she could loose herself in it, and in a way she did, but the problem was still staring her in the face. _If I hadn't fought it, if I had done something first off they wouldn't be hurt. But he was human, with a soul. _Three of the clubbers were in the hospital for blood loss, one with a broken ankle. It was only luck that no one had died. The red head bit her lip.

Billy Ford was dead. Buffy dusted him. She shouldn't worry about it anymore. It was over.

_But if I had confronted him to begin with, after Angel came to me, would those people still be hurt? Do we have to wait for humans to turn into something supernatural before we put them down? _The idea didn't sit well with her and Willow frowned as she tested the temperature of the water and switched it to shower. Some people considered turning into a vampire worse than death and on multiple occasions Buffy had said it herself. _And yet she left him down there to be fed on or turned. He was turned. Then she killed him._

Willow couldn't say she approved. Billy was going to die soon anyway; with his disease that was a given. Why hadn't Buffy killed him outright? Willow knew that the idea should have disgusted her, the taking of human life no matter how twisted it was, but the knowledge of it settled in the pit of her stomach like a strange cold comfort. If they had killed him as soon as they figured out his little plan...

Willow shelved the discussion for later as she stepped under the shower head and reached for the loofa. Half buried memories tickled her mind as she scrubbed off the sweat. _If men can be monsters, can monsters be men?_

She still had school to get to.

* * *

"Summers." The substitute called in a bored voice.

Buffy rushed into algebra classroom. "Here!" The sub arched and eyebrow, shrugged, and marked her down on the attendance as the blonde slayer slunk over to her desk. Buffy gave a sigh of relief and took out her notebook and feather-tipped pen. She hated math class. It was her worst subject and the only one of which none of her friends had with her. Which meant for some seriously boring not of the fun times.

Especially since Mrs. Belowski had an unfortunate accident two weeks ago along with half the faculty. It was a pity Synder had missed the party. _Little troll probably fit right in with all the monsters._

"Alright. We'll be reviewing chapter three and four today to see how far along your last teacher got." The sub called as he began writing an equation along the board.

Buffy cracked open her book to find many Willow-scribbled notes and hints. _Awesomeness! This semester is just gonna be one big review session! Mom won't kill me for bad grades, I won't have any!_ Smiling to herself Buffy hummed quietly and outlined a few notes so Mr. Nestle wouldn't have cause to yell at her. He didn't look like the type of sadistic teacher that got off on reaming out the students like her old school's Mrs. Hayworth but with Snyder around it was best not to take chances. She already had detention for loitering _between class periods._ What else was she supposed to do? At least she managed to get it served with Giles. All he would make her do is a few exercises and maybe copy a chart of magical whatsits.

"...and then we need to group the X and Y values separate..."

So she basically had a free period. Without naps. Something poked her arm and she turned to see a brunette with glasses hold out a folded piece of paper. Briefly flashing back to her years at Hemry Buffy hid a snicker and accepted the note. 'My brother had this guy last year, total snore. MASH?'

For a second she floundered. What was her fellow inmate's name? Florida? Jersey? Maine. That was it. "Sure." She flipped the paper over and listed the categories. _Number of Children: 1, 2, 4, 7. _She snickered. Like slayers ever had children and what guy could stand to be with her? He would die or get kidnapped. She'd seen that with Owen.

That was the good thing about Angel. She didn't have to worry about him so much. Buffy smirked. _Husband: Blonde, Brunette, Red Head, Bald. _It wasn't difficult to imagine their future together hunting demons followed by passionate sex. She blushed and fought down an embarrassed smile that quickly soured. Her chest felt like an iron band was wrapped around it, like she couldn't breathe, and a pained feminine voice moaned in the back of her mind. Like a whisper ghosting through her soul the voice faded leaving only a vague impression of disgusted emotion.

Angel. _Unholy demon. _But he helped her, he had a soul. He loved her. _False. Betrayer. Demon. Demon. Demon. Cold dead seed. Nothing good comes from the dead._

"Ow." The Slayer whimpered as she rubbed beneath her breasts in an attempt to sooth the strange constriction on her chest. For a moment she worried that some witch had targeted her, again, but she couldn't think of any reason one would. It wasn't like she was still on the squad. Buffy passed back the completed MASH form as soon as the sub turned back to the board to write out the solutions to the practice problems and closed her eyes with a sigh. Why was she thinking these things? She'd never been religious before. Angel was her friend and protector. They fought together. "At least until it gets too dangerous for the master vampire." The words escaped her mouth with a bitter tang before she even realized she was thinking them.

Once they were out though... Buffy fidgeted as she remembered when she first came to Sunnydale. Before she knew what Angel was, how he was cryptic and so-not helpful. How he admitted to being afraid of going into the secret passage and left her on her own to face an unknown number of opponents. Angel had left her to face the Master alone. Xander forced him to go after her; Angel wouldn't have dragged Xander along.

But then Xander had a habit of going into dangerous situations under armed.

Maine snickered and passed back the paper with her results. "Seven children? Damn girl, aren't you the little mommy?" Buffy rolled her eyes and took a deep breath as the vice around her chest finally loosened.

* * *

For having absolutely no faith in it's students, at least since Flutie was eaten and replaced by a half troll, Sunnydale High allowed it's students a surprising amount of free periods. Since they'd been in most of the same classes since elementary school Xander and Willow ended up getting the same free period. Xander was determined to use it for investigating. Thankful that Snyder never managed to get the metal detectors past the PTA Xander padded down the stairs and wished he could have fit his M-16 into his backpack.

No matter how oblivious Sunnydale was he was sure that would have caused some uncomfortable questions.

"You really think it's down here?" His red haired back up asked quietly as she nudged open the basement storage door. Xander knelt down and pulled a spare knife from his boot and passed it to her, not noticing the suddenly blank expression on her face as she flipped it in her hands to test the balance. He headed into the storage area and frowned at all the boxes. Many of them had labels of missing teachers.

"I don't, I don't know if it's down here. I'm not even sure it's real but..." Xander whispered with a shrug as he moved along the cardboard box lined paths. "If it is? If Giles theory of alternate timeline thingy's true it would be nice to have a little heads up before we're under seige by evil creatures from beyond the Hellmouth."

Willow smiled as she watched him move. Professional. Her best friend held his knife in an expert grip, ready to stab or slash, and he looked good doing it. A little more muscle and some stubble, add a cigar, and he could have walked right out of her comic book. It was a little creepy and she reeled her thoughts back in and looked around. She was supposed to be helping; not letting Rorschach run rough-shod over her brain. "I thought bezoars were found in goat stomachs."

Xander rolled his eyes. "That's Harry Potter, Wills. This is real life."

Willow lowered her head and peered at him through her bangs. "Um, Xander, how much about Jimmy do you remember. Like besides the technical solider stuff?"

"Like life stories and stuff?" Xander stepped over an upturned box and shivered at a clown figurine that had rolled out. He reached the far wall and continued on following it with his free hand running along the cement. Willow followed, checking for creepy scorpion wall crawlers while her ears strained for the sound of tiny claws. "Not really. Well, I think he didn't like his family much, but he had some good friends in his unit. His favorite movie was Robin Hood: Men in Tights. And I think he might have been gay, or bi. The memories are a little fuzzy on that. Oh! Bingo!"

They clustered around a crack in the wall and Xander nodded to himself as he used his combat knife to chip away at the crack. "Xander, I thought we didn't want it to get out?"

"Just checking." He twisted the knife and winched at the scraping sound before blowing granules of cement from the hole he made. Willow coughed and waved the dust from her face as she gripped her knife harder and squared her shoulders ready for any manner of creature to come slithering out of the break. Xander looked through the hole and hissed. "Sunnydale, we have a problem."

When he moved to the side Willow stood on her tip toes and looked through the opening, gasping as she did so. There was a large chamber on the other side of the wall with cracks spider-webbing throughout the walls and floor. Near the biggest crack a thin pink tendril was undulating, working the weakened cement back and forth to widen the crack. Willow jumped away from their spy-hole and braced herself against the wall. "Ew."

"So, yeah." Xander babbled while he spun his knife in his hands like it was a nervous twitch. "I'm betting that earthquake we had last year caused the breaks and woke it up. It's old, old, and we should tell Giles, maybe?"

"Yeah. Do you know how to kill it?"

"Blow it up? It's skin is bullet proof, so no hack and slash with Buffy, and that's after you move enough of the floor out of the way to expose it." Willow started stacking boxes by the wall to hopefully conceal the deadly gap in school security, spare knife slipped into her (usually decorative) belt, and frowned as Xander paced. One of the boxes bore the label of 'Jennifer Olkermyer' and Willow wrinkled her nose at the smell. Something had to have died in it. "But if we wait for that we'll have half the school under it's thrall. Probably."

"What about a jackhammer?" She shoved a handkerchief in the peep-hole and placed a box of old trophies in front of it.

Xander paused in his pacing at the suggestion, a grin forming on his face. "Willow, you're genius knows no bounds." He clapped his hands and holstered his knife as Willow handed the spare back since immediate danger was averted. "We'll report in to the Buffmiester and G-man, pick an assault time, and I'll bake a cake. Then we can go in, jackhammer blazing, and drop of the package!"

As they trooped out of the basement a ringing echoed through the school and Xander cursed. Willow squeaked and charged into the quickly emptying hallways. "Xander! We're going to be late for biology!"

* * *

"Giles!" Cordelia huffed as she mounted the school library stairs. "We need to talk, like now. I've got an appointment with my stylist in thirty. GILES!"

The native brit grimaced and gathered up the books he had been shelving before poking his head around the bookshelf. "Are you looking for something specific, Cordelia?"

The brunette rounded on him while shaking a finger like a scolding parent. "Finally. I came here at lunch and you were gone! You're a librarian, stay in the library!" Abruptly her hostile posture relaxed as she pulled her purse strap to tuck it under her arm and gestured absently. "You teach Buffy, right? Watchers know how to fight, I mean you'd have to so Buffy can be all butch and slayer-y. So you're going to teach me. I was thinking Wednesday evenings. There's nothing on TV and everyone goes to the Bronze on the weekends."

Giles balanced his books on the banister and crossed his arms as he stared down at the preppy rich girl. With a sigh he began polishing his glasses. "While I appreciate your... enthusiasm and assistance during times of crisis, I must discourage this sudden desire of yours. Supernatural beings are far stronger and faster than humans, it requires something extra to fight them. Buffy is the Slayer, she's capable of taking them on. In your case it would be best to run the other direction until help can be found." The Watcher spoke calmly. At least Xander and Willow knew their limitations and kept out of the major fighting. He couldn't begin to comprehend the cheerleader's thinking process but judging from the slightly darker complexion of her skin she was about to make her thoughts known.

"And I don't want to fight them! I might break a nail and do you have any idea how much a quality press-on costs? No, you don't. And that's not even taking into account the polish or how much beauty sleep I'd lose, not that I need it of course. No. This is a precaution." Giles made to speak while she paused for breath but Cordelia summoned her queenly authority and steamrolled right over the older man. "I've been content to run. But Buffy can't be everywhere at once," the girl rocked back on her heels momentarily before shaking her head and cocking her hip. "And what happens if we get cornered, huh? Or, Gucci forbid, everyone goes insane and turns. Into. Their. Costume? What am I supposed to do then?" Her designer shoes tapped out an upbeat rhythm on the wood flooring impatiently.

Giles watched as the cheerleader captain smiled brightly, hopped down the stairs, and gave a wave while calling back 'I'll meet you Wednesday!' _Was I just out argued by Cordelia?_

The doors swung back open as his kids walked allowing him to see Cordelia's back retreating further down the hall and presumably to her stylists shop. Xander held the door for the girls and brought up the rear. Buffy bounced in with a smile and dropped her bag behind the counter before turning and snapping a sharp salute. "Slayer Summers reporting for Duty!"

Willow and Xander copied her actions. "Scooby Rosenberg! Scooby Harris!"

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose. First Cordelia and now them... "Did you two also receive detention?"

"Nope. We're still in the clear." Xander called as he went to the office to raid the mini fridge for some snacks. "But we figured you might want to know about the bezoar in the basement."

It was a good thing he wasn't eating, or Giles would have choked. "Ah, a what?"

Buffy pushed the table to the side to clear space for her exercises. "A bezoar! And not the rock, though we think it's as old as one."

Willow hopped up on the counter and kicked her legs. "It's a demon that makes babies and takes over your mind. Or something like that. It's in the basement. Xander's going to make bomb, explode it from the inside."

"Good Lord..." Giles cleaned his glasses thoroughly and looked up as Xander came out of the office, Twinkie hanging out of his mouth as he rummaged around his backpack before taking out a beat up book with a yellow and black cover. He passed it to Willow with a nod as he tilted his head back and swallowed down the hostess snack. "Where did you learn how to build a bomb?"

Xander shrugged on his backpack. "Solider boy. Anyway, I got to get to the hardware store before they close, might have to go to a few to get everything. Ladies, Giles."

Willow took pity on their father figure and waved her hand for attention. "Hey, I'll fill you in." And afterward she'd finally get to read the comic her character had come from. It had taken long enough for her best friend to dig it out of his basement. To be fair though, his family had moved things around down there so much it was a wonder anything could be found.

The Watcher sighed and went to make tea as Buffy started her stretches. "My children are all grown up... and building bombs. Slaughtering helpless demons." He smiled faintly and chuckled as he was reminded of the brighter parts of his rebellious youth instead of the dark ones for once. He should have known it was only a foreshadowing of what was to come.

* * *

The bell above the door gave a little chime and Harry snorted as he looked around the shop. He had never noticed before, but for a one horse town Sunnydale was as well supplied as some major cities. They had their own army base, air port, zoo, shipping dock, and mall. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he looked around at the displays.

"Are you looking for anything in particular, Sir?" The clerk asked as he walked into view.

Harry scrubbed at his hair. It was dark and messy with an extreme case of bed head; just another one of the many changes to his personality that had started cropping up. "Just browsing, really." He offered with a chuckle. "Been thinking about getting something for my niece, she just started a photography class."

"Oh really. It's a great hobby." Rick, as his name tag claimed, said without enthusiasm. He wasn't interested in the profession but the money to be earned by running the check out. Harry gave him a noncommittal nod and picked up one of the display lens'. "Nikon."

With the attachment held to his eye Harry could feel the power in his blood. It was a dangerous self destructive power that could kill him and had even blinded Saiga at one point. He wondered if he even needed the actual camera. "Click, click, boom."

Rick looked up from his crossword. "Did you say something?"

"No." Harry put the lens down and picked up another wider angle fish-eye. He was curious to see what kind of attack spread he'd get out of such a lens. Bigger lens would cause a bigger explosion, smaller cameras for detail work, and in some cases he didn't even need to be holding the camera up to his eyes to see through the lens. It was like they became extra eyes and their gaze carried nothing but destruction.

He added a few boxes of film and set them on the counter for Rick to ring them up with the extra camera attachments and cleaning kit. "That all?"

Harry nodded and pulled out his credit card. He wondered; if he got a hold of one of those observatory telescopes, could he blow up the moon?

* * *

She had to agree with Giles: Buffy's choice of music left something to be desired. Willow managed to get through a chapter of Watchmen and find the bestiary with the bezoar before calling it quits. She tucked a stake in her pocket and stepped out into the relatively warm california night air. There was a strong breeze coming up and she could taste a slight salty tang from the ocean. Willow smoothed out her skirt and made a beeline for the nearest street light. She'd promised to stay away from dark alleys and fully intended to keep that promise.

At least she intended to keep that promise until she detected the sound of hurried feet and a shambling. _Shambling? _There was the sound of something metal, probably a trash can, being knocked over and Willow gripped her stake while slinking into concealment. It was too easy for her, she knew, too simple to disappear into the shadows like she'd done it a million and one times. Hiding in the shadows was a decidedly non-Willow action. While she might cower in fear she didn't hide, and when it came down to it she would fight for her friends. Possibly run towards the disturbance to find out what it was.

She didn't skulk in the shadow and wait for the unknown variable to come around the corner. She didn't strain her ears to measure out distance between the possible victim and analyze her environment for the best weapons.

But that was what she found herself doing as a man came into the light, panting lightly, eyes filled with fear as he checked for pursuit.

Goosebumps rose along her arms and she could feel the magic on the bearded man. Willow stepped out, felt her eyes slip past the man due to what she thought might be a low level concealment spell, and shook her head while breathing the counter. Her own power was shaky at best from a week of practice but the man was exhausted. His spell was failing quickly. "Do you need help?"

"What?" The man exclaimed while striking out in surprised panic with a silver metal case which Willow ducked. She scooted backwards and made calming motions with her hands and ignored the desire to knock the case away from the man and leave a few bruises on his arms. "Oh. S-sorry. I, uh. Ripper. I'm looking for Rupert Giles. Do you know him?"

"Giles?" _Ripper? _Suspicion warred within her. The stake retreated up her sleeve as her eyes checked the street for any signs of the shambler. "What do you want with our librarian?"

Relief flooded the man's face. "We were friends when we younger, ran in the same circles. There's some very important information I need to tell him. He, he wasn't home."

Willow pursed her lips and nodded. "He's training Buffy. I guess I can take you to him." She turned and froze. Something smelled different. Salt and the smokey exhaust of civilization had been met by wet decomposition. She clearly remembered the smell from the Frankenstein case. "Are you a necromancer?"

"No!"

"Then move!" Willow yelled as she dropped to the ground and picked up a convenient brick before chucking it at a woman. Mr. Victim hedged, clearly upset about leaving a young girl to face their assailant by herself, but his own fear won out as he took off. Willow kicked the woman and bile rose in the back of her throat at the *squish* as her foot impacted the zombie's stomach. Pieces of flesh were falling off as the woman moved rage clear on her face.

"He's mine!" Unknown zombie lady gasped out as she gestured causing an unseen force to send Willow into a wall. Willow ground her teeth at the pain and pushed herself up. Mr. Victim was gone. The zombie was gaining distance. Willow licked her lips and looked up. There was a pay phone to her left but with Buffy's music on max they probably wouldn't hear her call.

_What do I do? There isn't much time._

Before she could think much on it, Willow was up and running on some foreign instinct. She'd never done the saving people thing before, she'd been better at staying out of the way and being research girl, but some part of her had.

Sometimes what was really needed was a good fist to the face.

* * *

"Spiiiiiike." The insane seer of a vampiress called softly to her lover. "Spiiiiike." She trailed her nails over his arm leaving thin red welts of raised flesh. "I had a dream, Spike."

The blonde vampire shifted and rolled over to catch his sire in his arms. He breathed in her scent and cradled her close as she cooed at him. "Was it a good dream then, dead babies and headless kittens?"

"There was a kitten." She murmured as he kissed at the bruises along her arms that would never fully heal. The mob that had caught her had been clever: they'd used fire and consecrated iron with prayers and nearly killed her. Spike had taken several near fatal hits himself to get her out of danger and had taken half the town with him. Soon as she was healed and back to full strength they were going to go back and finish off that village full of ass-backwards peasants. Drusilla reached up and cradled Spike's face with one thin hand and smiled as her eyes stared into an abyss. "He had his head. He's a mean kitten Spike; he's going to bite you."

"Shhh, love." He took her hand and wove his fingers through hers. "I'll bite him first. No worries."

A wine escaped her and she stiffened, eyes migrating around the dimly lit room before settling back on her childe. "S'not just the kitty you have to think about. The fire is growing. It's going to burn her up from the inside, going to burn and burn and burn..." Spike frowned and held her closer as she shook. He'd thought it had been just a normal dream, but only visions took so much out of her and in her weakened condition they made her even more difficult to understand than usual. "...And burn until there's nothing left. Nothing but the ashes that make the pretty pictures."

"Dru, love. Is there something coming to Sunnydale? Some kind of fire demon?" He asked calmly. He knew her cure would be found on the Hellmouth. He'd paid a pretty penny for that information but if there was something bigger coming... he didn't want to risk Dru. But he couldn't leave without figuring out the cure.

Drusilla brushed back her hair and curled up in Spike's side. "No, no, no. She's not coming. Everyone's already here. Can we have a party?"

* * *

Buffy swirled the water around her bottle as she gave Mr. Panicky the stink eye. Little details jumped out at her and she inched her way to the checking counter and the small store of weapons there as Giles interrogated the new variable. She didn't trust his sweat-stained suit or evilly fashionable mustache/goatee thing. Then the fact that he was interrupting her planned relaxing work-out only hindered his case.

Stupid face-fur man.

"He's in Dee now, Ripper. We have to run, set up defenses, a trap! I know you've got to have something around here." The man headed over to the cage and Buffy followed him with an even more suspicious gaze.

_Who's Ripper? Giles? And just what is he bringing to our door? _ The petite blonde palmed a silver edged dagger and hopped over the counter. "Hey now! We don't take orders, so you make with the 'splainy before I make with the sharp and pointy." She punctuated her statement with a set of quick jabs in the air. The man turned to her with a scowl.

"Be silent, girl! And put that down before you injure someone, likely yourself." Buffy stared at the man and scowled, ready to defend herself and do a little intimidating, but found she didn't need to.

Giles set his glasses on the table out of harms way and all but growled. "Philip!" Buffy blinked in pleased surprise and went to stand by her watcher all the while cleaning her nails with the dagger. "Buffy can more than handle herself. She is the Slayer. What I want to know is why you've come here, and what you dragged in behind you."

The now identified Philip paused to give Buffy a closer look. He pursed his lips and afforded her dagger a more appreciated status. "A bit on the small side..." Buffy began flipping the knife through she air and took satisfaction from his nervous swallow. "Rupert. Surely you've had the dreams? We all have. He's back."

Buffy turned to Giles. The librarians normal stiff properness had been replaced by unyielding hardness as the man stared down at his old teenage companion. "What dreams? Giles?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Philip." Giles ignored Buffy's question in favor of staring down the other man. Slowly he began rolling up his sleeves. "What I find so interesting is that less than a month after my dear friend Ethan rolls into town you show up."

Buffy's eyebrows rose. She didn't realize Giles could do the sarcastic intimidation so well. Philip blanched. "Ethan? He is here as well?" The man swung out an arm and pointed at Buffy. "She's a Slayer! It's her job to deal with demons, get her on it! It's you're duty!"

"What is and is not my duty is none of your concern."

"It bloody well is, Ripper! Eyghon is all our problem!"

Giles froze for a moment before his voice came out so cold Buffy felt a shiver go down her spine. "He was sealed."

"Not anymore. Last I saw he got to Deirdre."

"Giles?" Buffy asked carefully while keeping an eye on the interloper and mentally noting to look up this 'Eye-gone' thing. "You want me to lock him in the cage?"

"No, Buffy. I don't believe that will be necessary."

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes. Why don't you take the night off, see a movie?"

"Ripper I really think-" Philip tried to cut in but was stopped mid-sentence as Giles hand smacked against the table and his mind called up all the memories of just why they had called the man Ripper. It wasn't a name given out lightly. If pushed, Giles could and would make someone's life a living hell before ending it in the most agonizing way possible.

"Buffy. I'll handle this."

The blonde looked between the two men in agitation. Her stomach was giving her an uneasy queasy feeling that she didn't like. Still, he was her watcher. He'd tell her if she needed to know, right? And he did suddenly look alarmingly capable of inflicting any needed damage with his tweed coat off and his sleeves rolled up and his eyes squinting murder at the obviously evil goatee man.

"...okay. Try not to pound him too much, he knows... something... important. Right?" Giving the man a last meaningful look she grabbed her bag and headed out the door. She could swing by the cemeteries on her way home and see if there were any new bad guys in town.

As Buffy left Giles moved toward his office and hidden stash of booze. Philip followed at a careful distance and accepted a shot glass. Giles downed the liquor and eyed one of the last men he ever wanted to see with angry distaste. "I suggest you start telling me everything, starting with just how that demon got out."

* * *

Four pairs of eyes glared at each other in a staring contest to end all staring contests. A well kept brunette brow arched as it's owner brought her gaze to bear on the orange skinned demon across from her. The demon growled and shifted, burning red eyes drifting to the sword handle peeking out by the human woman's shoulder. She noticed his attentions and tilted her head with a smirk.

"Call." She challenged while throwing down her cards. It was a good hand for the game, not the best, but a good hand. The orange skinned demon gave her a sharp toothed smile and revealed his own hand full of clubs.

"Kal'ish tok-ni-croosh. Hal'bek." He sneered as he spoke and reached for the mewling pot of kittens and cash.

Katlin's hand flashed out and caught his wrist. "I don't think so." Her teeth were not nearly as intimidating as the demons but they didn't have to be. She gave his wrist a painful twist causing several cards to fall out onto the table. The sound of chairs scraping along the floor could be heard as the other two players jumped back with angry snarls.

It was a fact of life in a poker game run by demons that everyone cheated. Anyone who came into the game should know and expect it. The difference was knowing who and when a particular person was cheating and how far to go in a confrontation about it. Really, poker at Willy's Bar was just an advanced game of BS with ridiculously high stakes.

Katlin ducked the orange fist coming toward her head and used the demon's own momentum to pull him toward her and into the far wall. Luckily, the back room was built from concrete and as a foresight absorbed sound well. Spinning, the lone human in the room avoided the enraged charge of a game-face vampire as it engaged the orange skin. She drew her sword as the remaining leather wearing ugly as sin whatever tried to snatch up the winnings. Katlin didn't really care too much about the kittens, but she had recently learned how much they were worth on the demon underground and wasn't about to let the thing get away with her earnings.

Well, as much they could be considered her earnings when she'd been cheating with the rest of them.

"Hold up there, buddy." She warned while maneuvering into position and avoiding a flying body. Cramped quarters were always a challenge to fight in.

She liked challenges.

* * *

Willow hurt. Her muscles had been strained trying to keep up with the zombie lady, who was damned fast for a zombie and apparently had some kind of telekinesis working for her, and in the end she still got away. Willow's fledgeling magic senses had been able to warn her when Mrs. Corpse was about to use her force powers but she hadn't been able to avoid all of them. The red head had close encounters with far too many walls, trash cans, and on one occasion a parking meter. Her bruises had bruises.

She fumbled with her keys at the door before limping inside her home, all pretense of wellness dropping once she was safe and indoors. No way was she, or the decidedly angry voice in her head, going to show weakness when there were undead about.

As she shuffled up the steps to her room the high-schooler mused that at least zombie woman was focused. During their running battle the rotting creature wasn't all that interested in Willow instead focusing on tracking some sort of signal that only it could hear. Willow's attacks were nothing more than mosquito bites easily swatted away with a gesture. She wasn't worthy of the attention to take out, at least until a particularly painful maneuver that only a trained gymnast should even contemplate allowed her to get in close enough to yank off an arm.

Not that it had done much but piss off the baddie.

"Honey, are you okay? You know staying out late could harm your grades." Willow's mother's voice called from the master bedroom.

"I know, mother." The response came out gravely and tired as Willow swayed for a moment and had to use the wall to hold herself up. She was exhausted, tired, and the thing had gotten away from her. Pounded into her ribs, her face, then sent her flying and the only thing that kept her from becoming a smear on a wall was a hastily constructed spell that didn't even work right.

At least it managed to slow her momentum down enough to not have her brains bashed out and allowed her side to take most of the impact. By the time she had regained the ability to move Zombie Lady had disappeared to who knows where.

Willow let her bedroom door slowly swing shut as she collapsed on the bed. Flashes of pain went off like light bulbs as her bruises came in contact with the mattress and adrenaline ebbed. She rolled onto her less hurt side and felt an electric charge go through her nerves. Tammi, the maid, had come by during the day and picked up. Her Rorschach costume had been folded and placed on her desk with the black and white mask on top as if staring at her in accusation. There was a hostile and supernatural entity running about set on killing at least one person. It was evil, and needed to be put down.

The logical side of Willow didn't agree. While it certainly did a number on her, she was the one fighting it. Who was she to say that the guy didn't have it coming? Maybe he did something to it to make it so pissed off?

Still, the mask continued to stare.

Pushing aside her pain, Willow lurched up and over to her desk. She picked up the treated latex mask and ran her fingers over it to watch the pattern shift and change. _Evil must be punished. _But it had kicked her ass, as Jesse would have put it, and didn't even break a sweat. _There is no compromise._ What could she do about it? She didn't have the power to fight it with magic, and she could barely get close to it in hand-to-hand.

"That guy was looking for Giles..." Her thoughts wandered and just as her hand was drifting over to her phone it rang of it's own accord, startling her out of her train of thought. She picked it up and held it to her ear, surprised. "Buffy?"

* * *

The florescent lights of the grocery store were bright and sterile, as usual, and like all large chains left a clinical ambiance that caused men to want to leave and women to hang about the food isles comparing nutrition facts. Boxes of cereal surrounded her as Joyce pushed the shopping cart down the isle with her elbows braced against the cart. Her pen tapped against the notepad as she checked off the needed pancake mix.

The Summer's matriarch idly reached out to snag a box of Cheerio's. "Let me get that for you, Mrs."

Joyce's head snapped up to see a slightly portly man, his hand hovering just an inch away from her own near the yellow cereal box. He smiled at her and Joyce found herself giving a small smile back. The man tilted his head to the side as he offered the desired breakfast item. Joyce accepted it quickly and dropped it into her basket. "Thank you."

"No trouble at all." He stepped up, expression pleasant, and hummed to himself. Joyce privately thought his hair looked a little like a wig. "It is rather late, what is a beautiful woman like yourself doing shopping so late at night?"

Joyce blushed. She ducked her head and resumed pushing her cart, the front right wheel letting out a squeak when she turned onto the fresh vegetable section. The man kept walking along side her, content expression only changing as he looked into her cart and clucked his tongue at the many snack cakes Joyce kept stocked for when Buffy's friends came over. His attention was flattering but unnerving. She pursed her lips, mindful of the many warnings all women heard of night predators, and headed for the Bell Peppers.

"I had to work late," Joyce dropped the comment smoothly hoping to warn off the strange man. "I run an art exhibit, have to get there early to receive a shipment." _I'll be missed._

"A very strong and independent woman." He nodded to himself. "I would hate for anything untoward to happen to you." His eye twitched as she turned around a display of tomatoes.

"Thank you for your concern Mr...?"

"Ted Bucanin."

"Ted." Joyce smiled tiredly. "But I don't believe I need an escort, though it's very kind of you to offer."

"I understand Ms." Ted blinked and walked with her to the check out line. "But looking at you now, I find it difficult to accept that I'll never see you again. You remind of someone I held very dear."

"Oh." Joyce blushed deeply. After her break up with Henry she'd been a bit hesitant about getting back in the dating game; how does one start after being married with child for twenty years? Some part of her mind rebelled and wondered why she wasn't more suspicious of the stranger. But was he really a stranger? He _had_ introduced himself.

He accompanied her to the car and helped load the groceries. "I'm sorry, Mrs. I never got your name."

"Joyce. Summers." He took her hand and left a light kiss on it.

"Would you join me for dinner this weekend?"

She'd been in Sunnydale a year, and still felt like an outsider at times. She only a had a few friends through work and Buffy was always running around being a teenager. Getting out and actually talking to someone, non-work related, would be healthy for the divorced woman. Right? "I'd love that, Ted."

* * *

_It wasn't proper, she scolded herself for the fifth time in as many minutes. A Lady did not wander around the grounds at night. A Lady did not come to her own defense. Her grandfather had been amused with her reaction to Sir Harold, but her mother had been absolutely appalled. _

_She should be in bed, working on her needlepoint. Elizabeth shook her head and sighed. She truly wished a knight could come and soothe her worries, all young women her age wanted was a man to come sweep her off her feet, she would have a few darling children to continue the family line and then retire happily. It was the dream._

_But not her Dream._

_Elizabeth paused as her ears strained for any noise however slight. Her gaze drifted toward the shadowed tree branches and she moved for cover by the ancient oak. She'd overheard the servants talking about suspicious deaths earlier. She prayed she was wrong._

_Buffy was hardly ever wrong but Buffy had Sir Giles and Sir Xander. Two strong, good men to back her up. _

_Elizabeth worried that should she go to anyone, even her dear grandfather, she would be sent to bed. Possibly sent away to a convent until a marriage to an absolutely horrid nobleman was set up. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at the thought and lifted her voluminous skirts as she went to the next spot of cover. Her eyes narrowed as she detected movement from behind._

_She felt her insides knot. Slowly she removed a beautifully carved cross she had commissioned from her silk purse._

_"Why what do we have here? A night blossom? Out waiting for prince charming, perhaps? Naughty naughty!" A voice hissed from behind. The speaker stepped toward her, confident, and his feet didn't make a sound._

_Elizabeth could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She was certain the abomination could hear it as well. She twirled with a most lady like cry of surprise. _

_The demon would have laughed. Instead it froze in abject fear as the wooden cross, carved expertly into segments of vines and flowers, lit up with the power of Faith. Elizabeth held her weapon with absolute certainty in it's power, in the power of God, and it showed. She stared down as the pale yellow-eyed demon moaned and its skin burned. For every step she took forward the demon took one back until its retreat was halted by one of the estate's oaks._

_"Who are you?" It asked miserably. "You are no Slayer!"_

_Elizabeth shifted her grip higher on the cross reveling the bottom to be a sharpened point. Her only answer to the abomination was to plunge it into the demons heart. _

_She stared, hyperventilating, at the ash remains of the vampire. No doubt there would be a few more around her father's fief and it was up to her to stop them. Her grip tightened on the cross-stake and she stepped back. A few tears sprung up in her eyes. "My name is Elizabeth Yorkshire. I'm a Lady."_

_She wasn't chosen. She wasn't trying to wage a war on demons. She wasn't out to save the world. _

_But she _was_ going to protect her little piece of it._

_Elizabeth wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief and moved farther into the orchard all the while muttering a prayer. "And though I walk through the valley of darkness..."_

_End._

To Be Continued...


	4. Late Night Walks 2 of 2

**Ink Blots**

**A Buffy/Watchmen Crossover**

**Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters do not belong to PurpleMoon3. The belong to their respective creators.**

**Chapter Three- Late Night Walks 2/2**

_ He sees her again, a whirlwind of retribution in the darkness. The same girl with the same group of friends. Sometimes he just watches them and sometimes... sometimes he is one of them. It's all very strange, and yet he cannot find himself overly upset by these visions of violence and camaraderie. They've been growing in frequency and clarity for weeks, since the Event, as he has come to refer to it. The Event in which he had been pulled from his god given body, and placed into another as though a celestial gardener had decided his Walter-shaped pot no longer fit. _

_ Intellectually, Rorschach knows he should be concerned. He may be cracking under the pressure like Moth Man. Screaming in his sleep, fighting what is not there, and breaking under the expectations of a thousand meaningless people. Bowing to the agenda of corrupt, small-minded politicians._

_ Daniel has retired quietly, slunk away from the calling, while Manhattan, Silk Specter, and the Comedian have all become government sanctioned dogs. They have turned their backs on the evil that infects their world at the behest of the delusional masses. _

_ Perhaps he should be worried about these dreams, dreams of a world where hell-born demons roam, and yet he is not. They are oddly satisfying._

_ He watches as the petite girl with the bottle-blonde hair -absently noting that needs a touch-up- kicks out. The move is concentrated beauty and power, and he approves whole-heartedly as the thing she is fighting flies backward into a tree with a meaty thud. He can hear something behind them trying to sneak up, but it's heavy and the very air groans in protest from its presence. The boy to his right pushes him aside as the creature lunges, deformed features clear and red eyes blazing like twin demonic suns, before the same blonde warrior catapults over their prone forms, and tackles it to the ground while slipping a sharp piece of wood between bony ribs and into, Rorschach assumes, the heart._

_ It is a good, clean, kill. The girl stands, wiping fingers covered in enemy blood -Blood a red so dark it is almost black.- off on the grass, and brushes the dirt from her designer skirt while tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Guys! You're supposed to scream if you need help!" The remark is thick with annoyance._

_ He feels his mouth open, but it is not _his_ voice that issues forth. "Sorry, Buffy. He surprised me and..." He feels his mouth twitch into an apologetic smile as his hands move forward offering a brown paper bag. The blonde, Buffy, rolls her eyes, and steps forward to take something from it. Familiar smells that send a river of warmth through him waft from the open bag._

_ The boy beside them makes a joke about joining the dark side, and also reaches into the sack. A bubble of simple happiness smothers worry he hadn't realized had been growing in his chest as he watches his two best friends snaking on the cookies he made. Chocolate chip with pecans, and just a hint of nutmeg. Family recipe._

_ But he didn't make the cookies and they are not _his_ friends. He knows this. It was someone else. Soft, trusting eyes and streaming red hair. Pale, smooth skin. Willow._

_ The name flutters through his mind like a moth, and he feels a strange disconnect. Like a rubber band stretching too far his limbs suddenly feel too tight and with a silent twang three become four. He watches three children, vigilantes like himself fighting without need or want of legal support, finger self carved stakes and old knives as they walk from the park. The demon corpse has taken on the consistency of jello, and a merry-go-round squeaks with the wind. _

_ Willow. Walter. Willow. Walter. Willow. Walter._

_ He frowns and then grunts as a light buzz brings him back to reality. It doesn't matter who Willow or Walter are or were: he is Rorschach. The others are merely masks -Shells.- to present to the world. Nothing else._

* * *

It is an inescapable fact that people didn't look for live bodies in the morgue. Simply, the morgue was for dead bodies, and no one in their right mind wanted to hang out with dead people. House exploited this fact to the best of his abilities in his search for a good spot to nap. Metal stretchers were surprisingly comfortable with a rolled up set of scrubs for a pillow when one was hiding from annoying girlfriends that had developed a sudden, and strange, fascination with poker and swords. Not that he had anything against poker, especially strip poker, but she was getting a little pushy about him getting into John Hopkins. Considering she kept coming home covered in strange goo and bruises, that wasn't a bad suggestion. Someone had to make sure his little psycho of a fiancee didn't catch some mystical viral disease.

He'd already taken a file to the fangs that spontaneously sprouted in her mouth, and he still didn't know what had caused there blue rash around her temples. Luckily, the rash had faded after a few days, but he still didn't know why. It was aggravating. Very, very aggravating. House pondered the inconsistencies of Sunnydale as he darted out the door of the autopsy room, and turned off his walk-man.

_What in the name of Cuddy's magnanimous cleavage is that thing?_ House shuffled quietly around the corner and, he hoped, out of the thing's sight. With an off green pallor, and bits of hair missing, the woman, and he used that term lightly, was the very personification of his favorite George A. Romero horror flicks. He wondered how she lost the arm, enchanted by the flapping remains of a shirt and minute drips of blood forming a trail. It was all terribly unsanitary, and his fingers twitched with need. _A shotgun, a shotgun. My kingdom for a shotgun._

The man grabbed his cane and twirled it around as he followed the zombie, curious. If he had to he could probably beat the thing over the head and make a run for it: after several weeks of morning jogs in celebration of fully functioning lower-limbs he had gotten rather good at it. Eyes sparkling darkly in anticipation he followed the rapidly degenerating corpse to the morgue while being extra careful to stay just out of sight.

The dead woman jerked on one of the body cabinets, the metal shrieking roughly, and a strangled sound of disappointment gurgled from her decayed throat. No body. Over half the bins were occupied and she picked one of the few empty ones.

Determinedly, the zombie shuffled over to the next door and tore through the lock.

* * *

Green eyes stared at the cement under her feet. No matter how much concealer she artfully applied, and this was after raiding her mother's medicine cabinet like she was five again, there was no way she could hide the swelling on her left cheek, or her split lip. Instead, she let her hair fall forward, a hanging curtain of rich amber, and ducked beneath it like a turtle retreating into its shell as she tugged on her long shirt sleeves self-consciously.

Xander watched her, eyes dark, and the set of his jaw changed the tinniest bit in a stance she recognized. Worry. She would bet he noticed the dark bruise around her wrist from the night before. _Don't say anything. Please, please don't say anything..._

"You okay, Wills? Haven't been talking to any men named Tyler?" He asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and... was he sniffing her? Why on earth would he be sniffing her? Willow subconsciously took a step back, hands forming little balls of tension around her elbows where she held her books to her chest. Her mind flashed back to the memory of her friend sneering at her, fresh blood on his lips, and lying eyes. Animal eyes. But not now. They were brown, not iridescent green, and he wasn't smiling in mocking laughter.

Willow swallowed, took a deep calming breath, and winced. _Bad, bad idea. We still hurt from all those Force-throws. Who's idea was it to put a nail salon there, anyway?_ A semi-full nights rest hadn't helped much, and she'd forgone her new morning routine in favor of taking extra time to wrap her ribs, and dress without screaming.

She gave him a shaky smile, replying after noticing the suspicion on his face increase at her wince. "I'm okay. Just a little sore." Xander's eyes widened, and he reached out before stopping himself; a conflicted expression on his face as he glanced from his oldest friend to his newest. Buffy was staring across the quad, one hand on her bookbag and the other fisted on her hip, at Giles who was hurrying down the path.

Xander shook his head and continued his earlier movement, carefully taking her books from her arms. Taking zero hour on top of helping tutor other students was starting to look like a bad decision, especially when she had to carry all the extra textbooks around. "If you need help, or anything, you'll call, scream, perhaps work some smoke signals in? It's what we live for!"

"I know, I will." The red head assured him, her smile gaining sincerity as the two of them shuffled to catch up with the speed walking slayer and her watcher. Willow did her best to ignore the shooting pain around her rib cage. It wasn't broken. It would heal. She'd had worse. _Why don't I just go to the emergency room? It's not like they ever ask any questions._

Willow sighed as she looked around the hallway. What was wrong with her? Maybe she should just bite the bullet and go to the hospital... _Oh! But I don't want Buffy or Mr. Giles to worry. _They came to the first of their lockers, incidentally Buffy's, as Giles explained how patrol would be cut in favor of protecting the medical blood shipment to Sunnydale General.

The slayer's blonde head bobbed. "Vampire Meals-on-Wheels."

"Hopefully not." Giles snapped back tiredly, and Willow wondered if she should sound the alarm as Xander had leaned forward a tiny bit and gave a discreet sniff of their more rumpled than usual librarian. Why was he doing that? "We'll meet outside the hospital at eight, I'll bring the weaponry."

"I'll bring the party mix."

"Just don't be late." Giles sighed, and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, briefcase still clutched in it. He turned to head for his domain when their computer teacher walked up, and attempted to start what in another time and place might have been a disgusting round of adult flirting.

Willow chanced a glance at Xander who leaned down and whispered, "He smells a little like my Uncle Rory. Less mint. Does Giles have an ex-wife?"

"I don't think so."

"Might have an ex-boyfriend." Buffy commented as she joined their cluster to comment on the ongoing Calender-Giles Drama. It was almost, the former cheerleader mused in a stage whisper, like being back in Hemry High only without the ever present stake in her purse. Willow and Xander made little 'o's and stepped closer as Buffy told them about the strange man interrupting her detention from the night before. "Did you find anything about that Eye-thingy?"

Willow gave a negative shake of her head. "Sorry, it was kinda late and I..."

Buffy pursed her lips and tilted her head as she examined the shy girl shrewdly. "Got in a fight with the computer?"

Willow felt her spine stiffen, in fear or indignation she didn't know, but remembering the last computer she had a conversation with made the question valid. Luckily, she was saved from further explanation as Ms. Calender turned from where she was watching Giles hurry away, and asked: "We still on for tomorrow?"

Xander's body heat suddenly became much more noticeable as he draped one arm around her shoulders protectively, and a wave of comfort washed through the red head. It wasn't romantic, not at all, more like a brother-sister gesture of companionship, but it was nice. She leaned back, and tried to remember what she had agreed to. Between crazy zombie women and foreign memories it was a wonder she only missed two questions on the quiz yesterday. Xander came to her rescue, the clueless knight.

"On for what?" The boy asked with a goofy grin. It was the weekend. What could they possibly have planned that the teenage mind wouldn't connect with whipped cream and cherries?

Ms. Calender eyed him with amusement. "Computer basics with some students who've fallen behind. Willow's helping out for extra credit." Willow groaned and ducked her head again, letting her hair fall back in front of her bruised face as the com. sci. instructor looked her way. She didn't want the attention, didn't want her to worry. Didn't want anyone to worry. Totally forgot about the commitment, and didn't want anyone to know.

Her best friend gave a half-hearted laugh. "Those poor schlubs come in on Saturday." He didn't mention the plans they had for the weekend which also involved the school; most weekends the Scoobies could be found spending the lunch hour in the stacks surrounded by dusty tomes of demon lore and, occasionally, playing games of scrabble.

Xander gaped as Ms. Calender pierced him with her comeback. "9 am okay with you, Xander?" Buffy gave a him a smirk while mouthing 'schlub'. "Cordelia's gonna be there."

_Oh god. _Willow inwardly cringed. _Three hours locked in a room with Cordelia, when I look and feel like this? _She could just imagine how those hours would go. The questions that would be asked. It was chinese water torture, without the water. Willow whimpered. _Why did I agree to this again? "It'll look good on your transcript." Like anyone ever reads those..._

"You mean, out of everyone in all your classes, only me and Cordy have to come to tutoring? Not even Harmony? She's like the densest chick in school!" Xander asked with a look of incredulity. "Couldn't you have at least given me a heads up earlier?"

"Miss Kendall is actually my second best student." She ignored the dropped jaws. "Very good at following directions, unlike some people who don't turn in their assignments, and look up the salem witch trials during class time instead of doing the work."

Xander cringed as the woman spun on her heel, shoes clicking against the linoleum, and Buffy peered at Xander from her open locker. "Salem witch trials?"

"...I like the pictures..."

Willow patted his hand as they walked to class. Neither gave verbal acknowledgment of the smaller girl using the boy for support as overtaxed muscles screamed, or Xander using his stature to keep other students from bumping into her in an uncharacteristic display of dominance over the shifting tides of the student body. "Don't worry. When we go in, I'll show you how to erase the browser history, and you can look at all the porn you want."

"You're the best, Wills."

Willow beamed, despite the lingering pain and the thought of the day still ahead of her. She could do this, she _could_, and they would get through zombie apocalypses and whatever else the Hellmouth threw at them.

And if she couldn't?

The girl gathered her strength around her as she entered first period, Xander stopping and dropping her books on her chosen desk, and did her best to ignore the whispering breaking out. Her make-up job was good, but not good enough. She hardly ever wore the stuff to begin with, and she was no drama student with mad disguise skills. The harsh grind of teeth whispered through the back of her mind. This was what masks were for.

Professor Bronson entered the room, and took up a stick of chalk as he started writing on the blackboard. White on black the words flowed forth, something about a revolution...

One of the Cordettes, the one with cropped auburn hair, was sneaking looks at her and whispering with another girl. Willow resisted the urge to slouch in the desk and become one with the scenery.

If she wasn't strong enough...

Willow paused to take a deep breath as she cracked open her spiral, and pushed the image of angry ink blots from her mind.

* * *

There was a cold sweat on the back of his neck, directly in line from the breeze of the air conditioner. His hands trembled the slightest bit as he turned the page in the old book, fourteenth century if he wasn't mistaken. He hadn't slept properly in three days, and even with Ripper's resources he couldn't find anything useful on how to deal with Eyghon. If the council man couldn't come through with a solution then he, Philip Henry, was a dead man. A few parlor tricks and simple protective charm were nothing, nothing, to the dream eater. First it would take his life, then his body, and then his soul...

In the library, surrounded by books, at the small table Giles had left him he could almost pretend everything was going to be alright. Warm sunlight, a deterrent to most forms of undead, streamed through the high narrow windows, but it was all a lie. Philip moaned, and held his head in his hands. He felt, looked, and no doubt smelled like shit. The dreams -Memories? Nightmares?- kept creeping up on him if he dozed off even a little, a simple seduction, and temptation of days gone by. The mark on his arm burned persistently with a dull and distant pain. How much would he be willing to give to soothe that ache? Give in and go to Eyghon? Willingly become his vessel?

It sounded so easy. It _was_ easy. Each sense increased, experiencing the world through new eyes.

"No. Never again." Philip muttered, and reached for the bottle of gin to pour a fresh glass. What kind of librarian got away with keeping axes, swords, battle-staffs, and alcohol on a school campus? He could have sworn the Americans were much more strict about that sort of thing... He knocked back the glass, and resumed reading with feverish intent. _There has to be a way. Eyghon has been banished before, but how? Must we all die before it is possible?_ Sunnydale High's library was built with an amphitheater in mind. The stacks grew in levels around the bottom floor where the tables and computer were. Heavy wooden floors that gradually rose were the mainstay of the place. Philip heard the wood creak before he sensed anything else. The bottle of gin spilled across the table as he spun, knocking his chair over, and gestured with a jerking motion.

"Philip, mate, so good to see you." Ethan Rayne smiled, hands open and in the air, while nervously eying the silver-edged dagger pointed at his throat. "Bit jumpy, you really should get that looked at."

"And how do I know you haven't been taken by him, Rayne?"

"Do you really think Eyghon would bother with the chit-chat if I was him?" Rayne asked in superior tone, eyebrow arched. The fact his face was green and yellow seemed to detract somewhat from the effect. He looked like something had been using him as a punching bag.

Philip slid the knife back into its spring-loaded holster up his sleeve but kept the chair between himself and the other Brit. "Dunno. I've been trying to avoid him. What happened to you?"

Ethan grimaced. "Had a run in with a disgruntled client."

"Ah."

"Enough about me," The Chaos worshiper swooped in, and gave the five inch thick demonology text a sneer. "Let's talk about you. What has Ripper got you doing in this musty old museum he calls a secondary school? Looking through books? Really?" He clucked his tongue patronizingly, and closed the text while leaning over to grasp the bottle with his fingers and swirl the remaining liquid. "You can't fight a Eyghon with words, Philip. You know that. I know that. Hell, Ripper knows it. He's probably just waiting to serve you up as a peace offering to the old boy."

"You always were the jealous type, Rayne." Philip gave a dry chuckle as he spoke, leaning backward in his chair tiredly. The bell signaling the end of the period rang, echoing through the near-deserted library, and he listened to the sudden cacophony of rapidly moving teenagers. Ethan rolled his eyes and offered the bottle before sniffing at it and taking a sip.

"Ripper had talent, I'm not ashamed to admit it." The mage spoke with a shrug. "He could do things with a spell I've only dreamed of, but he lacked the power or will to do anything really _interesting_."

"Why are you here?" Philip asked while swiping the bottle from Ethan's hands. After taking a long pull of the gin the tremors in his hands subsided to barely noticeable ticks. Both men quieted at the sound of the library doors swinging open, a child cursing, then sliding a thick volume of something into the return shoot. "Have you been having the dreams, yet?"

"Of course. But, unlike dear Rupert I'm prepared to do something about them." Somehow, despite the lingering discoloration on the man's features he managed to seem reputable. Knowledgeable. Confident. The very origin of the term 'snake oil salesman'. "The question is, are you?"

Philip glanced down at his arms. He could almost see the curved mark through his sleeves. He didn't want to die. The memory of Diedre screaming into the phone while Thomas' possessed body shot her played over and over again in his mind's eye. The smell of her corpse as it was forced to take one step after another... He didn't want that to be him. He swallowed and looked Ethan in the eye. "What did you have in mind?"

As long as it wasn't _him._

* * *

Homeroom is, no matter what era, the most boring class of all. Willow reflected on this as she stared down at the stupid little character building booklet they were supposed to be working through. The sub was sitting in the front of the class, horn-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose, reading a small paperback covered in plaid. Three guesses to what it was about.

Willow snuck a glance out of the corner of her eye to see Xander fast asleep, drool pooling on the open pages, and Buffy staring off into the distance, jaw twitching ever now and then as she slowly chewed her bubblegum. With a sigh of resignation, Willow went back to her work, the scholar within her demanded full attention and success in academic pursuits, but another part of her scoffed.

It was the new part, the dark part, and if she was honest it scared the shit out of her. She was hoping it would leave. Skinny little geeks were not good hosts for the spirits of angry vigilantes.

But it wasn't going away. It wasn't something they could just reverse like Xander and the Hyena possession. There was no ritual circle. Just chaos magic, which is inherently _chaotic_, bridging the realms, and she had neither the experience or power to set up any kind of containment. All she could do was ride out the flashes, and hope she didn't lose herself completely. It was a miracle she wasn't a stain of mistaken tomato paste after last night.

Willow refocused, and tried to ignore the part of her that scoffed at the citizenship exercise she was supposed to be completing. The Mayor's office had donated a great deal of money to repair the damages made during last fall's Master fiasco, though strangely no questions had been asked as to how a car ended up being driven through the building, and in return the students had to 'build character' and become 'responsible citizens'.

"Mary is a sixteen year old attending Wilkins' High." Willow read under her breath. "She excels in cheerleading, and her boyfriend is on the football team. One night while at a post-game celebration her boyfriend makes overtures to her. Mary loves her boyfriend, and they plan to marry after graduation, but she does not want to get pregnant. Her boyfriend does not appear to be dissuaded. What should she do?

"A, firmly decline. B, ask that protection is used. C, call for help. D, submit." Willow blinked to be sure she was reading everything right. _What the hells?_ This was citizenship? Strength of character? Nothing gave the option to run. It was like they were being trained to just lay down and give up... which disgusted her in more ways than one. Willow wrinkled her nose and began writing in the margin as her temper grew. The graphite of her pencil scoured the paper like an angry claw as she wrote.

"Secret Option E, Mary knees boyfriend ass-hat in the balls. Then she bashes him over the head into unconsciousness, before calling the police, regardless of how the other party-goers will feel about it. The fight is followed then by fruit punch and ice-cream."

Nodding to herself, Willow moved on to the next scenario and found herself no less disgusted. Everything was geared toward meekness. Being humble. Accepting fate and the fact that they couldn't do anything against adversity. It was all so stupid. _Too stupid for coincidence._

It was almost as if someone high-up was intentionally trying to handicap her generation.

Willow sat at her desk, stewing, pencil scribbling furiously as she wrote in minor alterations to the situations, then gave new options. There were _always_ options. You just needed to know where to look.

"Okay, you little delinquents, books up and ears on!" Ms. Kennith yelled as she slid a small blue ribbon to keep her place and set her book to the side. Xander snapped awake, and nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to salute setting off a round of giggling. Blushing like mad, he thumped back down in his seat before their baby-sitter could look up from rifling through a desk drawer. As a terrifying stack of papers hit the tabletop, Ms. Kennith continued speaking as though reading from a script. Her annoyance at the cut in her 'Laird' time was obvious. "As per regulations of the California Board of Education, it's time for the yearly Junior Class Career Survey to help put you on your path to future success."

Willow carefully closed her booklet sliding it out of sight, just looking at the thing threatened to start a spiral of aggression, and waited for the ten page questionnaire that was being passed around. Papers were shuffled and books stuffed into bags. Twenty pairs of eyes drifted to the clock as it counted down to the final bell and Willow could taste the anticipation in the air.

It was more than a desire to leave school. It was like on some primal level everyone knew they were sitting on the gateway to hell and wanted to get out ASAP.

"These are due Monday, so take your time. Remember, your whole future may ride on how you answer these pages. Do-Not-Fuck-Up." Ms. Kennith's last words were drowned out as the release bell rang, loud and shrill, causing students to charge for the door like a heard of stampeding gazelle. There was lots of jumping involved. Willow gathered her books following the crowd at slightly more sedate pace so as not to be jolted by the crowd of excited teenagers.

"Wills, you doing alright?" Xander fell back to her side, Buffy joining them shortly after. Her pen had been twisted into her hair where it managed to secure a small bun. "You look kinda... angry. Usually you get all googly-eyed at the thought tests and stuff."

"I..." Willow exhaled and relaxed her hunched shoulders. They twinged a little, and she made a mental note to stock up on icy-hot, but with her friends hovering like mother hens she wasn't jostled as much as she could have been in the not-so-crowded halls. "Sorry guys. I've just been a little edgy lately. What with Halloween, then Ford, and then there's Giles' mysterious mustached man."

"Nice alliteration." Buffy quipped as she bobbed her head, scanning the crowd.

Willow gave her a shaky smile. "Thanks." She ran a hand through her hair. "I guess I got a little too into the Character Building assignment, made me a little tense."

"Really?" Xander asked as he pulled his own rolled up copy of the thing from his back pocket. "I saw it was multiple choice, so I was just gonna go with 'C' on it all. Statistically, I'm bound to get some of them right, and it's just a completion thing, anyway."

"So if you get cornered in a dark alley, you're gonna scream for help?"

Xander blinked, processed, then gave a huge grin. "But of course! Then Super-Buffy can come save me."

The blonde rolled her eyes and leaned against a locker. "Uh-huh. What about you're man cred?"

"That died a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... besides, the only thing I can imagine cornering me an alley would be of the yellow-eyed, long-toothed variety."

The halls were emptying, and soon the school would be little more than a skeletal husk. The sun would set in about two or three hours. Just enough time to get home and get inside. She was getting more and more morbid.

"Buffy, I did a search on Eg-"

Willow's comments were cut off when she noticed Buffy's eyes widen marginally and her lips thin as she hissed, "G-man, three O'clock."

Xander frowned in confusion. "But he's at six..."

"And it's three now."

"Children." Giles walked up, and there was hardly anyone else left in the hallways. Little things stood out, things Willow hadn't really noticed before, and a worm of unease wriggled in her stomach as the man cleaned his glasses. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes seemed more prominent, and there was a tight tension in his shoulders. The watcher turned to his slayer. "Buffy, I'm sorry, but I won't be able to meet you tonight."

"What, why?" Buffy pouted, lip jutting out slightly, and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're standing me up? But you made the date!"

Giles leaned against a corner pillar and rubbed his forehead with thumb and index finger. "I know, I know... but I need to find Philip before he does something stupid."

"Triple M pulled a rabbit?" Xander asked as he leaned toward the librarian.

Giles paused to look at the other male before chuckling to himself and wiping a hand down his face. "Aptly put. Buffy, if you'll come with me to the library I have some silver-edged daggers you may want to take a look at..."

The locker swung shut with a metal clang. Willow and Xander watched Buffy as she waved cheerfully to them and bounced after Giles, ponytail swinging back and forth as she went. Xander sighed then stated wistfully, "And then there were two."

* * *

The street lamps cast a yellow-orange glow over the streets. Willow crept along clutching a large zip-loc bag to her stomach, and every now and then her heart would jump as something made a noise. Sometimes it was a cat. Sometimes it wasn't. She now had bruises on her bruises for the time it wasn't a cat, and everything ached more than she thought possible. It was almost enough to make her turn around and sink into her parent's nice big tub with hot soapy water and jets. She didn't even have her stake with her anymore, because she'd been too slow on the pull-out.

"Oh, yick." She grimaced. "Focus, Willow, now is not the time for a Jesse moment. It just might get you killed."

Jesse. She hadn't thought about Jesse much after the Harvest. Every time she passed by what had been his locker a knot formed in her stomach, and when she saw some transfer student sitting where he used to sit she wanted to throw up. They hadn't even had a body to bury.

It had to be worse for Xander. Willow bit her lip, narrowed her eyes as if willing her night-vision to enhance, turned off of Main Street, and into a back alley. She could imagine how it happened: one second trying to talk to a face so familiar yet so _not_, the next watching dust and ash settle around your shoulders. If they hadn't been able to exorcise the Primal Spirits, would Buffy have been forced to slay Xander?

Except Xander wouldn't have been nice and clean, neatly vacuumed up and thrown out with the trash. He would have been flesh and blood. Gory.

_Running. Chasing. Breath comes in cloudy pants as she follows the criminal. He's climbing a chain-link fence, and there is a small spark of satisfaction as his arm catches on the top barb, skin tearing, leaving blood. _

_ She's not breathing near as hard as he is. She knows where that alley comes out. He knows where Big Figure is hiding out. He'll talk. Nite Owl won't like it, so she won't go as far as she could, but he'll talk._

_ He'll talk._

"No. No. No." Willow grunted out under her breath as she stared at her feet, at the bag lying forgotten on her sneakers, waiting for the world to return to normal. Her fingers are wound up in her hair, hands pressing against her head as if trying to make reality calm down by sheer brute force. A cricket chirps from a crack in the wall, and a hand comes out of the darkness to grasp her shoulder. "No!"

Instinctively, she ducked to the side, bringing her own hand up, wrapping around the wrist, and by pulling just right, her attacker should flip and go flying onto the pavement.

But the body doesn't go flying, and instead Willow finds her opponent dancing from the grab and expertly turning it in on itself. Willow's grip is shot all to hell, and her back slams into the concrete of the building. This is it. If she goes, she goes down-

"Willow?" An angry teenage girl hisses in her face.

Green eyes glance through messy strands of red, and a tentative smile flickers into being on her lips. "H-hi, Buffy. You surprised me. Sorry."

"Willow," The slayer breaths out with exasperation. "What are you doing here? You should be home, in bed. Or home, in the bubble bath... I could go for a bubble bath right now. The mosquitoes out here are murder."

"Well," She shifts her feet, frowning, and picks up the plastic baggie that broke open during the scuffle. There goes an hour of labor. "I had brought the party mix, but now." It is a real shame, watching the remains of chocolate covered, peanut butter filled, chex mix bits dribble out onto the street. A river of homeless good things, like the island of misfit toys, only an island of uneaten treats.

Buffy smiles a kind of predator smile that lights up her eyes, holds out her hand into the flow, and caught a few of the snacks. "You even added the powdered sugar."

Willow nodded sadly. The other girl stood there in fashionable yet practical shoes, leather jacket, with her hair up and out of her face. And she had handed Ror- Willow winced while mentally correcting herself with a big, fat, red pen. - Willow her butt. Slayers were built for this sort of thing. What could one skinny, banged-up high school nerd contribute beyond research help?

_So? Always been out-numbered by bigger, stronger opponents. Always._

There was a rapid flash of memory, too quick to suck her in, but Willow pinched her lips against the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. It faded, but she still felt unsettled as she followed Buffy over to a corner to watch the back of the hospital. The blonde turned, "I want you to stay out of the way when the vampires show up. There's no telling how many there'll be, and I don't want you getting hurt."

Logical, yes, but it still grated. Slayers fought alone against the darkness, were trained to fight alone, but teams could work too. Less chance of dying when you had someone to watch your back. Rorschach was a loner, but even he accepted that simple truth. Where would Buffy be if Xander and Angel hadn't followed her down to the Master's Cave? "What if I see an opening?"

"Then, just..." The blonde pleaded while a white van rolled up to the hospital loading bay. "Just, be _careful_. Okay?"

"'Course." Willow breathed in a low growl as she watched Buffy walk out to confront the two men dressed in scrubs. Doctors didn't take deliveries. Not in Sunnydale. Her hands formed into delicate fists as she thought about what had happened to the guard that was supposed to take the blood shipment. Dead? Turned? And was of the interns that originally wore the scrubs? "_Parasites_."

The sounds of fighting rushed through the red head's ears. Buffy was fast, she'd seen it a thousand times, but now watching the slayer move brought out an analytical critic. Buffy was fast and strong, a given, but she lacked art or efficiency.

A bag a of tainted blood went flying as Buffy kicked it out of a vampire's hand. Three on one. Not the best odds, but then Willow had never before noticed how damned uncoordinated the bloodsuckers were. Buffy kept her arms close to her body as she used a round house to knock one down, and then used a boot-to-the-head to take the out the driver. Then she ran back to the first. Which was by now up and holding the slayer over its head like some kind of comic-book barbarian.

Through it all, the red head couldn't but think: Why?

Why not stake the two she had just knocked down while she had the element of surprise?

Willow stepped into the shadows and examined her surroundings for any advantage. _Just a dirty alley. Think, there's got to be something. Something._ She knocked aside a box of papers. Nothing. Old newspapers. No crates. Some glass. Weird random bits of metal that seem to accumulate in every alley in every dimension but nothing she could _use_. "Come on..."

Miracle of miracles. Willow wasn't going to ask why there was a handsaw in the trash. She didn't fucking care. The teeth were rusted, several were broken, and the handle had splintered. She wished she had her gloves. Willow grabbed the saw, ducked low, and used her momentum to tackle the vampire moving in on Buffy, who had just gotten back to her feet atop the car, with stake drawn. The slayer had the high ground, and was ready to slay.

"Angel?"

Willow struggled with her vampire, jerking a leg back as claws racked along her skin, and swung down with every scrap of anger she had. The saw cut into the skin and snagged on the bone. Willow jerked it, climbing astride the face-down corpse struggling for purchase, dragging the rusty blade through the bone.

"Buffy, look out!"

It exploded into ash, and her knees hit the tarmac with support gone. Willow glanced up, mouth dropping open in surprise as she watched the self-proclaimed vampire with a soul get in the way of a slayage, jump through the air, and tackle the vampire driver. Scrambling away from her own kill, the girl couldn't help but feel she was in some kind of action movie. That was the only explanation for Angel's kick that sent vampire _spinning_ through the air and _into_ the _drivers seat_ of the _get-away_ vehicle. Which he then proceeded to use to get away.

Crap. Willow very carefully dusted her hands off, and attempted to calm her nerves. Her hands reflexively tightened around the saw handle. She walked over to Buffy who was checking the blood packets for viability. The blonde looked up at the vampire, and though it was hidden well Willow would swear there was suspicion in those hazel eyes. "How did you know about this?"

Good point, Buffster. Willow stood by her friend in silent support. How _did_ he know about it?

"It's delivery day. Everybody knows about it." He shrugged off the question. "They only ruined one bag."

He moved forward as if to help take the ice chest, and Willow felt a low warning rumble start up in the back of her throat. "That doesn't answer the question, and how the hell did you know that?"

Why was everyone looking at her like she'd grown a third head?

Angel frowned. "I could smell it... I'm a vampire...?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping the saw blade against her arm. "That explains how you knew one was open, but not that they only opened the one. Unless you watched. Big Bad vampire. Hiding in the shadows. Waiting for an opening."

"What are you trying to say?" Angel challenged.

Willow flushed, sinking into herself defensively, and Buffy looked from the other girl to Angel as though confused.

* * *

"Where the bloody hell is the blood?" Spike yelled as his demon rose to the surface, changing what could have been the visage of a male model into the stuff nightmares were made of. He had the minion by the lapels of its jacket, and snarled, eyes burning, fangs glinting, hands curled into claws. "There were three of you!"

"And three of them! We were mugged, boss, mugged!" The minion claimed, eyes searching the warehouse for support. In the shadows other vampires watched, some sympathetic, but none of them wanted to risk drawing the blonde's attention. While the duo were less religious than the Master or the Anointed One had been, they didn't stand on ceremony or titles, Spike and Drusilla were creative when disobeyed. An iron cage still hung from the rafters, the metal permanently pitted and stained from the unnatural fire of a vampire flash-burning. "Some other Master is trying for your territory! If I hadn't left they'd have gotten me too!"

"Maybe they should have." Spike growled as in inhaled the fear wafting off the former jock. Barely a year dead, and he was soft. Vampires from this century were pitiful, he silently bemoaned, they were either all brains or all brawn. Combination that could barely figure out which side of the neck the jugular was on. When he had been a year dead he'd had whole villages under his belt.

His sire came into the room on slippered feet, tiny hands clasped under her chin. "Spike? Where's our dinner? You said you were ordering out."

"Sorry, luv. There's been a mix-up." Spike shifted and tossed the minion across the room. Vampires winced at the sound of the spine snapping in multiple places. "Turns out Ms. Edith isn't the only ones that know about delivery day."

Drusilla whimpered and clutched at her stomach. "I'm hungry, Spike. Soooo hungry." She held up bruise covered arms. "Will I dry up and waste away? Blow away on the wind like so much dust..."

"Never. I won't allow it." He looked up, ignoring the paralyzed failure moaning on the floor. "Kristy, Mason, go check the local rutting grounds. Find us a nice young buck for the princess."

Kirsty, a thin blonde still wearing the blue dress she had be buried in five months ago, licked her lips and touched her ridged forehead self consciously. "Um, rutting grounds?"

Spike rested his forehead against Drusilla's as she hummed to herself, and ran his fingers through her hair. He wanted to reach over and crush the ditzy girl's throat. "Where ever you damn kids go to shag without mummy and daddy walking in."

"Where we... the park!" Blushing, the two undead teenagers ran out the door, and the tension level decreased. Drusilla pulled away from Spike, and tip-toed over to the prone vampire. Her fingers trailed over the swelling on his face and he jerked away in a panic.

"He's making funny noises." Her head tilted. "Three by three, hands of green."

Spike perked up at the seer's statement. "That's a great idea, Dru! What do you think the going rate on assassinations are these days?"

* * *

Buffy walked home, jacket closed against the cool night air, and bit her lip. Willow had brought up some very good points, and Angel had always been pretty cagey about, well, everything. He didn't like talking about himself, but considering that most of his life was spent torturing and... Buffy winced.

She didn't blame him for not wanting to talk about it.

Still, what had he been doing there? If he wanted to help her fight, why did he wait until she was about to pounce on ER poser number one?

"It's way too late for this." Buffy moaned while looking up at her window. She hated climbing trees, especially when wearing panty-hose. Runs were a bitch. Sighing, she bent her knees, ready to jump for the lowest branch when someone stepped from the side of the house.

"Evening, miss."

"You!" Buffy backpedaled, reaching for the knife in her jacket, then paused and grinned. "You look like something the demon dragged in."

"Oh, ha-ha. Very clever. Now be a good little slayer and come with me." Ethan gestured to the side. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

"No, we have not. I'm going bed. If you pissed someone off, it's your problem."

"Oh no, my dear." Ethan smiled, and Buffy frowned. "I think you'll find it can be yours just as easy as it be mine."

Buffy rolled her eyes, then screamed as another pair of hands came up behind her and wrapped a cloth around her nose and mouth.

* * *

_"I liked the one where you paired up with Rorschach to save the damsel better." A brunette with a buzz-cut grumbled as he tried to get his yo-yo to pass between lengths of its own string._

_ They were in the barracks, Karson practiced his yo-yo tricks while Jimmy laced up his boots. "I'm just saying, it was a really, really weird dream. I can't get this blonde out of my head, and I don't even like blondes. She was really, really important too. They called her the Slayer."_

_ Karson looked at him, the hard plastic toy smacking with finality into his palm, and arched an eyebrow. "You're having dreams of blonde, busty, super-woman that fights demons with archaic weaponry? Are you sure you didn't OD on Supergirl when we went on leave to that comic convention, Jim-bo?"_

_ "There's a red head, too. Pretty cute, bookish. Again, not my type, but you know..."_

_ "So we've got some Supergirl, Pepper Potts action. Nice."_

_ "You know, Karson, forget it. Forget I mentioned anything!" Jimmy growled, and abruptly stood up. He swiped his pistol from the bed side table, checked the clip, then slid it into his leg holster. "Come on, or well be late to the party. And stop sniggering! That's an order!"_

_ "Sir!" Karson snapped his heels together and threw a salute, but his lips were quirked in a grin as they walked out into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the checkpoint. Jimmy sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he was reading too much into it all. Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, or so they said. Besides, it really was all a bit of stretch even for Sunnydale._

_ Jimmy paused once they reached the door, and turned west toward the center of town: the center of the Hellmouth. A great, grey stone wall topped by barbed wire surrounded the Pit. Watchtowers kept, well, watch over the land that still occasionally spewed out demons that only lasted as long as it took the explosive rounds to travel from the towers to the targets. The sight was a comfort. Nothing beat good old American know-how and war-making. "Humanity, fuck yeah."_

_ "That's what she said!" _


End file.
